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"Thrall Wars" part three - in which several whiffs of foulness betrays the fickle truth

Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Jul 4 2014, 2:37pm

Post #1 of 19 (7991 views)
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"Thrall Wars" part three - in which several whiffs of foulness betrays the fickle truth Can't Post

[What has transpired so far: Prologue. Part Two.]
(Writer's note: Edits have been done, please scroll to the end for a summary checklist of changes.)



In utter contrast to the impending weather-induced misery and starvation of Thralls and Dwarves alike, far below the broken front doors (still looking overlarge and unwieldy) of deserted Erebor, upon the eastern bank of the River Running, the Elven host was already encamped: comfortable, warm, dry, and most important of all, satiated.

Of course, the Elven encamped made merry: strains of elven-harp and elf-song warmed the night chill, borne on winds scented with the warm welcoming fragrance of woodland spring blossoms, warm welcome to the Lake-men still straggling in to receive succour in the Elven tents, chieftest of which was an austere tent of golden shimmer.

Within that tent, Thranduil the Greatest Elvenking of the Forest Realm sat at a work desk, the candlelit shadows caressing the carven planes of his face flawless fair as he perused the despatches from the Halls, with a fine vintage decanting in a crystal decanter; alas not Dorwinion fine this round for tis not the time for indulgence upon an expedition, not when the Dwarves proved themselves longer-lived than the Dragon, drawing out what had been the perfect plan of a simple treasure haul, and necessitating rationing on the Dorwinion stock if it was to last this expedition.

Truly, strange was the Dwarven stiff-necked hoarder pride: Thorin's insistence to gather once again unto himself the zombie thralls, whom he cannot hope to succour properly, and whom he had put aside in his need for the Arkenstone
showed how abjectly devoid of feck he was. It cannot be true affection for those hollow shells of feminine (mostly) semblance in parody of some strange Man-race, given the utter lack of Dwarven feminine guiles (whatever those may be, apart from being bearded like Dwarf-men) of these females (mostly). And yet though the King was aware though he had more knowledge of Dwarves than most in these parts, who could say what passed for the Dwarven sense of aesthetics or logic in truth?

At this time, the rain had rained itself out, and more's the pity. The whole lot of Dwarves and thralls could use a thorough wash from what the delicate senses of the King of Elves had perceived. The winds at least had favoured his chosen campsite, and carried the ponderously odourous mix of mud, unwashed lusty Dwarf and Thrall scents in the other direction. For a brief moment, the Elvenking felt empathy with any caught downwind of that odious assault.

The wine's bouquet, thankfully, lessened the unpleasant memories of his encounter in the fields earlier that day. Yet he rued again the Dwarves' fortune for its impact on his nightcap routine as the wine that passed through his lips.

How Thranduil looked forward to the extra shipment from the first vintage to be delivered in the new year that Bard, a leader rare among Men and a worthy ally for he was among the ones with fortitude who did not lose a part of themselves merely upon sighting the Elvenking's fair visage, pledged in gracious trove of the new alliance between the Woodland Realm and Dale and Lake-town. A refreshing change from the grovelling Masters of recent past. Thranduil smiled at the thought, and the candle flame leapt the higher, sinuous and fey.

His pleasure was disrupted by noisome shrieks carried upon the winds to his perfectly-shaped ears gifted with perfect hearing. Some Dwarven theatrics stirring some thralls still stirring with some vestige of life or hunger (which it was none but the thralls themselves can say for sure) outside those tastelessly overlarge gates of Erebor (which makes no strategic sense) no doubt.

"My King," said a melodious Elf voice from without the tent, "Your presence is requested." A frown passed over Thranduil's fair face. Mildly blood-curdling the screams may be, yet the noise alone would not worry any in his well-trained army.

Moonlight broke through sullen clouds to greet the tall Elvenking as he stepped forth in lissom grace from his tent, but for a moment for even the Moon was quickly overcome by his beauty.


There he stood in darkness, halo'd by the faintest of starlight, a glow accenting an utterly hauntingly beautiful flawless face, a face that has driven both men and women mad just to look upon, as a shimmer like morning dew before the break of dawn glistened in his eyes more beautiful than the finest of pure white-gems ever mined, tinged with icy-blue that hold the memories and sorrows of the ages, yet flush with living moonlight flame, framed by a lustrous waterfall of silken hair the color of palest fine sand encircling an oasis of pure waters, like unto the Cuiviénen itself.

It was well the tent was positioned to face the Mountain and away from Bard's army for the Men needed their full faculties to be of use in the coming conflict, the sentry thought, he who had called his majestic King forth. As Thranduil turned his fair face toward him in question, he bowed with the greatest reverence and gestured wordlessly towards the Mountain.

Ahead Legolas, who had entered the camp mere hours ago, stood alone encloaked, gazing at the Mountain. With disdain and not a little phobia at the mushy ground reminiscent of watery swamps far in the south, and far back in his memories, thankfully he faced not the South, the great King of Elves took off his voluminous over-robe and handed it to the sentry. Then with effortless grace, he strode over the soft water-logged earth that would have squelched most embarrassingly at every step if Men attempted the same, leaving barely any imprint upon the muddy mushy, reaching his son's side as a gentle breeze danced about his raiment, flaring it in comely compliment to his tall broad-shouldered physique, sighing at the rhythmic poetry of his stride, long and purposeful.


Legolas stood entranced, and yet Thranduil ever-wise and ever-aware, had no need to ask what held his attention, for the quick-witted King noted already the fascinating display of starlight-like flashes blooming upon the Dwarven gates Erebor, intensifying in time with the intensity of the noisome shrieking.


Much like starlight they were, and yet not of stars or starlike gems. Thranduil felt a flare within himself much like the flashes. A mockery or something of that ilk by that feckless Dwarf surely! Feckfully, the magnificent King turned to his son, towering over this child of his loins, pleased to note the undignified nosebleed Legolas suffered in valiant pursuit of the accursed orcs.


Legolas' eyes did not leave the Mountain. "A shadow, yet not a threat, has been growing in my mind, Father," said he shuddering with an unknown chill, "The stars are veiled." Thranduil said nothing as he noted the twinkling stars wheeling overhead, the same ones that halo'd his beautiful self so becomingly.

"Something stirs in the ... " Legolas floundered, trying to get his bearings but he soon gave up. "Well, anyway, something doth draws near," he intoned, "I can feel it. Those lights, I have seen them before in dark dreams I have had of late. Dreams where I am surrounded by grasping hands, the accursed lights going off in my face with strange clicking noises, blinding me so I cannot move as shriekers like those upon the Mountain drool upon my raiment (which they doth try to rip off), forcing hugs on me. It never stops, a sleepless malice I cannot escape." He stopped himself before he could mention the strange fuming Dwarf who always seemed to be glowering outside the encircling thralls in his dreams. An omen he could scarce fathom.


A chill ran chillingly down the straight supple spine of Thranduil the Elvenking as he turned, his heart chilling as he stood alarmed at the distress in Legolas, who smiled at his magnificent father despite the chill in his own innards, and instead said in gratitude through his chilling breath, "Save when you appear, Father and draw away as if by magic the thralls, screaming strange things about fidelity and fevers, crying that I was hot beyond belief, but that you were hotter still and they were sorry." He paused and pondered, "Truly, for what I could not guess. No allegiance did I ever discern with these... thralls, certainly I felt no hotness, but a leaden coldness in the pit of my stomach, weighing me down like cold lead. This only I was ever sure of in these dreams: I am always glad when you save me thus. Which you always do when I thought I can bear no more." Thranduil frowned and the stars seemed to faint. In a small voice Legolas said: "Forgive me, Father! I know it is wrong of me to be glad to have you draw upon yourself they who trouble my dreams but it eases my troubled dreams so. I always hope the hotter fever that they claimed troubled you did not trouble you as much as they did."

The wise King Thranduil shook his head. "I know what it is it you see, my son," whispered the King, as the stars themselves seem to draw closer to hear the stirring music of his voice, "for it is in my mind also." The wise King chose, wisely, not to reveal the likeness of his son's nightmares to his own. Nor had he the heart to tell Legolas his own wise suspicions what the thralls' fascination with fevers meant, nor his seeming ability to draw them away. Some things were wisely left unsaid. "Such is the nature of thralldom," the incomparable Elvenking said wisely instead, "Out there in the vast psychosis of the world, it festers and spreads, a shadow that grows in the drool. A sleepless malice as rabid as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was, so will it always be. In time, all thrall things come forth."

Yet another burst of those strange unstarlight starlights bloomed with more shrieking. The King felt suddenly chiller than cold. In the wisdom of his quickly chilling heart, he also made a mental note to remind Galion to triple-check the entrances and exits when he returned to the Halls anon. The stray thralls that appeared at will, and increasing numbers, within the walls of his own fortress troubled the very integrity of the Elvenking's repose. And no one would again enter his kingdom or leave it but he hears of it, hopefully before one gets too far within the walls, or worse enlightened Legolas as to the unknown heat enamating from Legolas and himself the thralls seemed so drawn to.

The sentry, who had stood at rapt attention at his King's commanding presence, also shuddered, for while out on patrol he himself had encountered a stray thrall who accosted him most unbecomingly, all the while raving about beggars and choosers.

Suddenly he remembered why he had requested his mighty King's presence outside his golden tent.

"My Lord, Legolas. The Elk was seen moving toward the Mountain, grazing," said he with concern. "And look, the Dwarves seemed to be gathering upon some ledge with a clear view of him!"

Thranduil's lips curved in a faint smile, brightening the sentry's night for rare it was to be bestowed with such a wonderous sight. To the King's beautiful elf-eyes of grey the antics of Thorin was clear as he stood upon the lip of a cliff before Erebor, other Dwarves crowding him and numerous thralls taking precarious positions and causing more of those unstarlight starlight flashes. "Do you believe my mighty war-elk so easy a prey for an aging Dwarf's failing sight?" said the King of Elves, the breeze weaving a chorus line to his words. "Nay, not for these Dwarves who managed to kill the one black squirrel in Mirkwood between them, who spending all their quivers, failed to even put a mark upon a white hind within the Wood. Look, already the Dwarf gives up the foolish notion."

Very confident though he was in the Dwarves' capability to miss, still the King of Elves could not help but feel a flitting worry for the safety of his beloved Elk.
It would not be a pleasant walk in the squishy earth, yet Thranduil desired to be with his Elk. Too he perceived Legolas' need for some distraction from his funk. "Come, Legolas, let us go find my mighty war-elk, and perchance have a closer look at that unstarlight starlight glimmering."


So saying, the tall Elvenking strode forth with confident grace. For a moment Legolas hesitated for going toward the source of the flashy lights of his dreams was not what he wanted for himself at the moment. Yet he would not defy his King and father, even in so simple a thing.

So it was that natural Elven athletic prowess saw the Elvenking and his son meeting the war-elk as he had just melted into darkness, from Thorin's view, without even straining a muscle in their lithe lean bodies. The elk bugled a greeting to his master surpassing fair, who with one smooth motion that would have saturated Thorin's envious heart with envy-overflow stretched forth his fair long-fingered hand, and powered by a well-defined, long-limbed arm, reached across the sternum to grasp the nape of the mighty beast and in so doing, leapt lightly across the front of the Elk and thence onto the back of the beast
on the other side. Legolas his son, stood marvelling at the effortless grace so nonchalantly displayed, made a mental note for a move so stylish must have occasion to be exhibited again for the world's admiration.



So majestic the Elvenking was astride his beloved Elf, his son bowed his respect. Then wordlessly, Legolas stepped forth as they swept the Mountain with their perfect elven sight. But all was quiet upon the edge. Legolas, not without a little relief, looked to Thranduil who gave an elegant nod. Cutting a milieu of perfect grace, Mirkwood's most beautiful elven father and son pair turned and returned to camp, with none but the bashful moon and the wind, save for two pairs of squinting Dwarven eyes high up on Erebor's escarpment, no doubt on guard duty, a pair of which belonged to Gloin who had sudden pangs of paternalistic pangs, and the other to the glowering Dwalin, bearing witness to their elegant retreat.




Upon the Mountain, as the rain rained itself out at the last, the Thralls convulsed in collective shivers. With no native frog or indeed toad cacophony to replace the mighty winds that had left in disgust after going the Mountain a few rounds too many, the growls of their empty stomachs kept all awake through the timid breezes left whispering softly in the dark, even the Dwarves, who could sleep like the dead while composing their nightly Crescendo in Snores.

Life-skills aplenty the Dwarven thralldom collective may boast, to the misplaced pride of the throneless King Under the Mountain, yet what use are skills of life or indeed death when there was no object to bear the brunt of those skills? When Thorin lowered his bow and the great war-elk of Thranduil melted into the night, an undercurrent of dismay had quavered through the stale air (they did not dare raise their voices in protests while Thorin held both arrow and bow). Right then, some of the more learned Thralls have exchanged looks and come to an accord on an important conclusion: When the zombie pangs struck, mushrooms, even though brain-shaped ones, were a poor substitute for REAL brains... and even King-Under-The-Mountain-Thorin's-His-Name hugs. Grousing under their halitosis, some thralls, some of the more learned ones among them, were feeling truly peckishly disgruntled, especially when Thorin set off rummaging for his Hobbit while they hungered, in more than ways than one.

Said Hobbit of course was fingering his Ring which he was wearing on his favourite finger, sitting quite apart from Thralls and Dwarves. Poor Bilbo's head was aching from the confusion in his feels. Thorin blew hot and cold, bear-hugging him in choke-holds (with no consideration for the mess the transference of his Thrall slobber made upon Bilbo's coat) and blaming the world's hurts on him in turn. The Hobbit could scarce make sense of the temperamental Dwarf's cocktail of gruff affection and moody raves. And that messy head of tangled hair and tangled beard (and where hair end and beard begin how can anyone at all tell?) drove him a little mad with its dire need of combing, of which there was copiously copious dearth, whether Dwarven or Thrallen.

Thralls! Truth be told, the sudden appearance of the Thralls did not help his situation of course. Most of them couldn't even be arsed to give him time of day, but there were a few who were almost Thorin-like in their need to hug him. The rest... the rest looked at him as if something, in the vicinity of his head, was good for eating, lip-smackingly, finger-lickingly. Speaking of which, he was feeling the rumblies in his tummy too. He'd much rather be at home, curled up with a good book and a fresh-baked seedcake or three than fending off Thralls and Thorin. All in all, the adventure was turning out to be a let-down, except for the time he spent wandering the Elvenking's Halls. Oh what delights he found in the pantries of the Elves. And he giggled at the memory of that time he found himself in what could only be the
fabulous dressing room of the ElvenKing, he with the captivatingly beautiful face even among the unspeakably beautiful (albeit marred by their untrusting and absolutely suspicious nature... a little) Elves, an unwitting witness to the King's coldly efficient self-defence against an Elven-thrall who had surprised him by posing as one of his beloved tall orchid vases.

His tummy rumbled again, and Bilbo resolved to file an official complaint against Gandalf for gross misrepresentation at the Good Business Bureau once he got back to the Shire. Really, Hobbits ought to be safe from the adventures the wizard peddled.

He was mentally composing his letter of complaint when he heard conversation, low and coarse. He crept closer for a listen and of course he didn't understand a word of it, but if he could, this is what he would have heard:

"What is it, Gloin?" Dwalin boomed. "Since the Elves pranced off, you have been in a mood."

"I... I don't know," Gloin grated.

Dwalin coughed. The best way to get a proper Dwarven conversation going was to share a true piece of thought. "Well," he looked around and lowered his low voice even lower, "don't tell Thorin now, but I have to admit, even without his pointy little crown, Thranduil commanded kingly attention like a king. And the way he got onto the Elk's back looked so stylish (what I can see through my presbyopia)."

Gloin looked sharply at Dwalin, who had the grace to look away. Gloin nodded carefully. "And that beautiful pale gold of his long straight hair like a serene waterfall... imagine what beauty could be wrought with but a strand, jsut one strand..." Only Dwalin's increasing concerned look woke Gloin from his reverie. He himself had the grace to look away. Coughing he said, "truly, it's that elven spawn of Thranduil's (who also has a nice head of golden hair now that I think about it). I just feel a bad omen about him."

Quickly latching onto the only thing he understood in Gloin's words, Dwalin snorted. "Which wafting Elf isn't? Though he's good with that bow of his, too much poncing flourishing, but he did save us," he grudged.

Gloin shrugged, "Well, yeah." In his head, he quickly did a balance of the accounts, "Almost, not quite mind, but almost enough to write off all the insults he gave us..." Pensively he turned the thoughts in his head, "Well, all he needed is a small discount and we'd be square... By Mahal's stubbed toes, what am I thinking! Why am I giving an Elf concessions?"

Dwalin coughed, and Gloin quickly closed his inner account book before he started drawing hearts on the Elf page. Still, what he really wanted right then was to hug Gimli tight and teach him all about the treachery of Elves. He sighed, "I don't know, cousin. Seeing the pair of them, I wish I was home you know? Gimli should have learned to belch respectably by now. At this rate, I might not even see him until he's no longer quite so wee. What about his vocational training? Who's going to take him on without me there to butt heads in on his behalf?"

"Oh is that it?" Dwalin asked gruffly, his low voice making his words even more gruff.
"Cousin, I give you mine word here and now." He stood and thumped his deep broad chest that while truly an impressive specimen of Dwarven masculinity, made him look much shorter than he was, accounted tall for a Dwarf though he was. "Gimli shall be my apprentice in belligerence and antagonism. I'll even give him a pre-apprenticeship primer on how to menace Elves," Dwalin promised.

"Promise?" Gloin asked.

"Promise, " Dwalin promised.

They spat on it and butted heads and chests, and that was that.

Bilbo, unnoticed did not realise he had privy to a sacred ritual, undocumented by any not of Dwarven blood, among Dwarves. Of course he didn't know it would have to repeated once the cousins got back to civilisation, with proper beer mugs to be clashed and the contents downed and belched properly to officially seal it. Actually, dispensation under the circumstance would have allowed for belches of things other than beer, but so short on commons was the Company that there was simply no belching to be had. The Hobbit merely shrugged and went back to his mental letter writing.

But of course he was disrupted yet again. Secretively, a few thralls secreted their way past him, and the strange thing was, they seemed gruntled. Bilbo's interest was piqued if only to see how a pocket of gruntlement could sustain itself in the utterly disgruntled thralldom of Thorin, in this place with its utter poverty of food, which brooked no gruntlement.

Bilbo found a stone outcrop where he could look down upon what the gruntled grubby group was so grubbily gruntled about.

"Oh my!," was his first thought as he looked down.


The gruntled thralls were reverentially turning the pages of the obviously precious magazine as one of them, a member of the more learned ilk by the looks of her bazooka-like telescope, adjusted the monster seeing eye and trained it somewhere to the south. Bilbo, provincial as both a Hobbit and a genteel of that ilk, had enough thrall experience by now to not be surprised by thralling antics, and had a fair idea what the eye was locked on.

"Just look at them!" the vacant-eyed thrall holding the magazine squealed softly. "If I hadn't seen them with my eyes, I swear no one can convince me they aren't photoshopped. You know," she rolled her jaundiced eyes, "like the manframe upgrades the Dwarves got!" The one next to her, obviously a bit further gone than the rest made small noises that no one seemed to understand. In frustration she whipped out her phone and typed: "But this is a fanzine, isn't it? The Elvenking of Mirkwood, he who walk in starlight with starlight in his hair, doesn't grant interviews. He doesn't even keep thralls." A tear dropped and magnified the last as the vacant-eyed thrall read her phone aloud to the others. (Unremarked by the others was the mumbly thrall's devastation at her own seeming assertion, which was no more empty lament for she was further gone because she had been wandering the Wilds for longer, and was one of the thralls who had wandered into the Halls and been disarmed and expelled even before she could profess her thralldom to Thranduil.)

"Well, exactly. Why do you think I bought the 'zine?" the telescope owner asked. "Tis vicarious thralling, even if it's all made up. I need an outlet for my thralldom dammit, and be careful there. I'll rip your tongues out if you lick the pages. No drooling either! Gah!" She snatched back the 'zine before it was tainted further. "And why do you think I'm in with you lot and not lounging in that golden tent there? Because it's the only way to even catch a glimpse of him without suffering head and shoulder detachment. I may be zombiefied, but I still like my head attached to my shoulders, thank you." She stood mesmerised, drinking in the glorious Elven beauty on the 'zine cover. "Just look. Fanart putting even the most dishy of bishies to shame," she whispered, "But still, it ain't nothing compared to the real deal." She sighed lustily, the effect of which was spoiled rather by the strange whinging growl from her stomach. "Ahem... so I know why Mumbles here's here. But why're you all here? You're REAL Dwarven thralls, yonder stomps thy ill-tempered liege, messily hirsute and as unwashed as us all."

The vacant-eyed one looked furtive. "Well, it's night time and there's no wind." One of the telescope owner's eyebrows arched, the effect evident even through the flaking eyebrow pencil remnants. "Oh, don't get me wrong. Thorin and Kili, or was it Fili, and Fili, or was it Kili, they all got that perfect-lighting-in-the-face-wind-appropriately-lifting-each-facial-and-head-follicle gig down, right, thralls? But personally, there's only so much chest-thumping Dwarven magnificence, and you got to admit they are magnificent, right?" She stared at the telescope owner until she grunted with grudging gruntlement. "See? Thank you!"

"Yeah, yeah. You're going OT here, Dwarf-lover. Why you here perusing MY Elf 'zine?"

"Oh!" The vacant-eyed thrall squinted involuntarily. "Where was I?" She muttered. "Oh, right! Weeeell, as I was saying,
there's only so much chest-thumping Dwarven magnificence I can take before I need a break you know?" There were murmurs of assent. "Besides, Thorin just keeps going back to his Hobbit." Louder murmurs of assent, finally with hints of disgruntlement.

Bilbo thought he heard enough and quietly retreated, only to turn and see Bofur staring vacantly. He looked like he needed comforting. Bilbo sighed and reluctantly removed his ring. Sauntering over, he greeted Bofur as carelessly as he could.

"Hello Bofur!"

"Bilbo! Where have you been? Thorin's been looking for you!"

"Yeah," Bilbo made a face, "I mean yeah? Before I go to him, tell me are you all right?"

"Ye-- No. I'm not," Bofur said dejectedly.

"All right. Care to tell me?"

Bofur stared at him, words ready to spill but not yet spilling. Bilbo waited, trying to encourage him with only a smile, which was so inadequate and could not never have worked on a Hobbit since there was no seedcake, or anything to eat really lying around.

Bofur scratched his beard, and fingered his weed pouch. Bilbo threw up his hands and sat down next to him. Finally Bofur spoke: "Well, you know those flashing little things the Thralls all seem to have?"

"Yes. Amazing, aren't they. I can't understand what they're about 'zapping', 'posting', 'logging'. Quite... fascinating."

"You don't know the half of it."

Bilbo made a non-commital sound and sort of nodded, sort of. Bofur looked around, "Promise not to tell anyone else?"

"Shire honour," assured Bilbo.

"Well," Bofur sniffed, "I guess that'll have to do for a non-Dwarf." Clearing his throat, Bofur ignored the indignant frown forming on Bilbo's brow and motioned him nearer. In a conspiratorial tone, the Dwarf waggled through his beard: "One of them came up to me and went on and went about something called fannard excitedly. Kept saying that's why she was my thrall cos the fannard was so good. And I, er, I thought it was some innard you know, good for eatin' and such. So I said sure, show me."

"And?" Bilbo encouraged, fascinated by the thought of food. But Bofur's face turned a putrid green, and Bilbo prudently backed himself out of range. "I... I never imagined such evil could exist!"

Instinctively Bilbo reached into his pocket. "What?" he asked, his voice trembling despite himself.

Managing to keep his feelings down, Bofur tasted the bile and made a face. He sighed. The Hobbit was an innocent after all. "Never mind. You go to Thorin now, before he starts stomping through the treasure and messing up our count again."




Away in the south beyond the feet of the Mountain, something strange was happening too in the camp of Elves and Men.

In his austere tent of gold, Thranduil was ready to settle down with the last of the decanted non-Dorwinion. Alas, repose was not yet to be for the unfairly fair King of Elves.

The sentry called again his beautiful King to emerge from his tent. The tall Elf-lord stepped forth in arresting grace, arresting the breath of the strange Elf by Bard's side, and to a lesser extend Bard himself as he squelched through the still mushy ground for the King was truly surpassingly fair, as the pair approached the golden tent together.

"King Thranduil," Bard hailed. Ever he looked grim, Thranduil noted. Together they stood facing the newcomer. "This Elf claims he has a message and can only speak in your presence."

The strange Elf cleared his throat, and he seemed star-struck, though no stars were visible. Stiffly he bowed, careful not to gawk at Thranduil, as a queer feeling rushed like hot blood through his veins. He shook his head to clear it, and then and drew himself up. "Greetings," he said softly and a bit uncertainly. When Thranduil nodded in response, he seemed to draw strength from the Elvenking's approval. "I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell." Thranduil frowned for this was clearly a Wood-Elf of Lothlorien. The strange Elf hurried with his preamble, "An... an alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together..."

Sternly Thranduil held up a hand, confusing the strange Elf (who marvelled at the comely fingers on the fair hand of the Elvenking). "Surely you jest. Wood-Elf of Lothlorien. The Alliance was no fickle matter for you to be bandied about like a cheap badge of some small adventure." The strange Elf felt a lance through his heart at the grimness of the the Elvenking, though he noted through the pain constricting his heart even frowns could not mar the fair
countenance of the King. "Nor were you present for none would I forget! Why are you here, truly? And for what purpose? Speak quickly!"


The stunned Lothlorien Elf blinked. Finally with a moment to think through the strange feelings that had drowned his own thoughts, while his heart wrenched into itself as he tried to make sense of it all, he was feeling dismay: this was not how it was suppose to transpire. The Elvenking was to welcome him and invite him into the royal tent. "My lord, I... I am a
guard of the Golden Wood, Haldir is my name," he stammered, wondering why he felt hurt, a feeling much as he felt when he was spurned by his beloved when they disagreed. His love who surely was worried at his sudden desertion of his own flet.

While he tried to make sense of his feelings and thoughts, Thranduil sighed, and turning to the sentry said, "Send for Galion. Master Haldir here needs provisioning for his journey home." Turning back to Haldir, the wise King asked, "You are not yourself, guard of the Golden Wood. Tell me how came you to be here, so far north of your home?"

The question seemed to clear (a little) the veil over his mind and heart. Suddenly feeling like the Rauros had been emptied upon his head at once, Haldir groaned. "I do not know, my lord. I was on border patrol with my brother. One moment I was singing campfire songs with Rumil and the next, I... I was swooshed to the entrance of the encampment, and there were these words I felt compelled to say and I do not know how, yet I knew it was my destiny, strange as it may sound (even to my own ears), to speak with you and... and... " his face turned green at the words he did not utter.

Just in time, Galion appeared and quickly helped him away, and out of the sight of Thranduil, who was feeling a little relief at not having the rest of Haldir's words uttered, especially with Bard present.

Turning to the Man, who had been watching the exchange with his usual grim-faced seriousness, Thranduil gestured to his tent, "Perhaps we should talk since it seems there will be no rest for me this night."

Once inside, Bard made himself comfortable, while marvelling at how the tall Elf, robed magnificently tastefully (after met the Elvenking, he suspected strongly the Master's
questionable taste in increasingly lengthened robes was patterned after the wardrobe of this ruler of Elves, in all his gracious glory, hoping hopelessly to be bestowed some of the Elven grace King Thranduil exudes with such effortless grace), still seemed none the worse for wear despite the events of the day.

Extending a glass to Bard, who accepted it with great appreciation in his eyes, Thranduil seated himself.

Toasting the Elf, he took a quick sip from the glass as the Elf sat, nay, arrayed himself in the chair facing him. Straight to the chase he cut as Thranduil too took an elegant sip. "It seemed to me you have met these strange Elves before, King Thranduil." Bard said shrewdly.

Thranduil looked long at the Man and sighed. "No. Indeed there have been Elves from other places, males, females, even... other races, who appear suddenly where I am, professing some great yet absurd need to stay and aid me when it is clear I have no use for them. I will not say it is evil for some things are not yet clear to me. But some strange magic is at work, driving those afflicted to run, walk, or however they manage it, as if the very whips of their masters were behind them, compelling them to seek me out, expecting... strange things of me. Things that could never be."

Bard noted with interest the very slightly green cast upon the Elvenking's fair face, while complementing his flawless complexion, resembled the hue that had come upon Haldir's face at the end. He shuddered in spite of himself at what could cause the pale fairness of the cold Elvenking composure to change. "So, should other strangers claim urgent need to have your audience again, I should despatch them directly to Galion?" asked Bard.

"If you will," Thranduil smiled appreciatively.

"Consider it done," said Bard with a smile in return. And draining his glass, he took his leave.

Once again alone with his thoughts, Thranduil pondered upon the dying night. Bard had left the flap of his tent open, and in the distance the Mountain frowned darkly.

Suddenly the sky lit up with fireworks over the peak of the Mountain.


Bemused, and yet unsurprised at this new development, Thranduil smiled in spite of his darkening mood at the empty decanter. Whatever was happening at Erebor's gates, it was no longer a dark and stormy night, merely a dark night, though a long one.




(Happy 4th of July all you statesiders)




Fan of both books and movies. Oh, and it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.

Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI

"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======

Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


(This post was edited by dernwyn on Jul 17 2014, 3:26am)


Avandel
Half-elven

Jul 4 2014, 3:44pm

Post #2 of 19 (6905 views)
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Bravo!!! Bravo!!! Bravo!!! [In reply to] Can't Post

ROFLOLLaughLaughLaughLaughLaugh

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"A shadow, yet not a threat, has been growing in my mind, Father," said Legolas shuddering with an unknown chill, "The stars are veiled." Thranduil said nothing as he noted the twinkling stars wheeling overhead, the same ones that halo'd his beautiful self so becomingly.

"Something stirs in the ... " Legolas floundered, trying to get his bearings but he soon gave up. "Well, anyway, something doth draws near," he intoned, "I can feel it. Those lights, I have seen them before in dark dreams I have had of late. Dreams where I am surrounded by grasping hands, the accursed lights going off in my face with strange clicking noises, blinding me so I cannot move as shriekers like those upon the Mountain drool upon my raiment (which they doth try to rip off), forcing hugs on me. It never stops, a sleepless malice I cannot escape." He stopped himself before he could mention the strange fuming Dwarf who always seemed to be glowering outside the encircling thralls in his dreams. An omen he could scarce fathom.


*snigger*
*oh gawds*
*wipes tears from eyesCoolCrazy*

Ahem. Verily, it would seem that while 'tis flattering for His Majesty to have received an Unexpected Army, perhaps he should consider Oin's earlier concerns about tending said army? But yah know, just never know what a maddened Thrall will do. Or a madden'd king. Or a madden'd moose, for that matter....Evil

PS. I wanna look at the 'zine article, no fair!!!!!


Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Jul 4 2014, 4:25pm

Post #3 of 19 (6946 views)
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*Bows deeply* [In reply to] Can't Post

yay Avandel approval!

Phew! U hv no idea how relieved l am!

heheh...looking forward to know what u find the zine. And oooh the intrigue of assorted maddened squatters of Erebor


Fan of both books and movies. Oh, and it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.

Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII

Thrall Wars: Prologue, Part Two, Part Three

"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======

Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


Elarie
Grey Havens

Jul 6 2014, 2:37pm

Post #4 of 19 (6839 views)
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Oh my gosh, this is so funny [In reply to] Can't Post

and so much fun. Laughing out loud, for real! Thank you!
Laugh


And once again the world has not arranged itself just for me.


Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Jul 7 2014, 1:40am

Post #5 of 19 (6826 views)
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You're very welcome Elarie. Thanks for letting me know you had fun. [In reply to] Can't Post

Makes a dreary rainy Monday morning more bearable Smile


Fan of both books and movies; it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.

Heart Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII
(Tis true! More appreciation threads for Thranduil exist than ME movies)

Laugh Thrall Wars! Teh partsies: Prologue, One (None save Avandel knows whither teh "One"), Two, Three


"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======
Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


Kerewyn
Rohan


Jul 13 2014, 12:46am

Post #6 of 19 (6816 views)
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Wonderful [In reply to] Can't Post

This has been terribly....distracting, as well as quite quite hilarious!Laugh Laugh And that I am currently deep in the throes of 'The Walking Dead' viewings... it's all kinda messing with my head. In a good way. Cool


Quote
Moonlight broke through sullen clouds to greet the tall Elvenking as he stepped forth in lissom grace from his tent, but for a moment for even the Moon was quickly overcome by his beauty.

HeartHeart

'People don't know where I begin and latex ends, which has always been an ambition for me.' (Martin Freeman)


Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Jul 13 2014, 1:30pm

Post #7 of 19 (6839 views)
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Heheh terrible fun is our aim [In reply to] Can't Post

Thanks for the note, Kerewyn Smile

Now I've got mini flashes of Elves going guerrilla along with Darryl when he struts his archery cool.


Fan of both books and movies; it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.

Heart Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII
(Tis true! More appreciation threads for Thranduil exist than ME movies)

Laugh Thrall Wars!: What business do Elves, Dwarves or Men(?) have with drooling thralls, yea, unto the slopes of Erebor? ... oh, yes, the Hobbit's lingering in some shadows, ever ready to swoop to the hairy rescue. Take cover if you dare!
Teh partsies: Prologue (aka the 'tater-mash of whatever came before), Two, Three


"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======
Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


Kerewyn
Rohan


Aug 10 2014, 5:03am

Post #8 of 19 (6906 views)
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Thrall Wars part III appendices: An Unexpected Flashback... [In reply to] Can't Post


Quote
Oh what delights he found in the pantries of the Elves. And he giggled at the memory of that time he found himself in what could only be the fabulous dressing room of the Elven King, he with the captivatingly beautiful face even among the unspeakably beautiful (albeit marred by their untrusting and absolutely suspicious nature... a little) Elves, an unwitting witness to the King's coldly efficient self-defence against an Elven-thrall who had surprised him by posing as one of his beloved tall orchid vases.


Led by the subtle yet sensational oaked aroma of a 376 year old wine - a hobbit nose knows vintage – Bilbo padded tentatively down the spiral staircase lit by glowing streaks of ‘amberescense’, pulled into smeary orange shapes by the ring vision distorting his sight.

He’d become used to this by now – it was rather like looking through a pane of glass that one has spat on, only to find that, because a huge sneeze caused by housework – or should one say ‘holework’ - refuses to be diverted, one is forced to use one’s window cleaning rag in rapid emergency, being the temporary absence of one’s pocket handkerchief because the weather is unseasonably wet and they are all still drying by the fireplace in the front parlour, and then one forgets about the contents of one’s nostrils and goes to wipe the window with it anyway, leaving a nasty smudgy smear and really, it’s most annoying – one has to now find a clean cloth and start all over again – truly a day’s housework is best behind one, when a body can settle in front of the fire with feet up and enjoy a nice bowl of hapuka soup, a large hunk of bread and vegemite, and a cleanskin of …



The wine was being delicately decanted into an elegantly-wrought vessel by the fine-fingered be-jewelled hands of the tallest Elf Bilbo had ever encountered in his humble life, taller even than Gandalf; glowing in both stature and the platinum blonde halo, which fell like a shimmering waterfall from the point above the alabaster temples to the point where it pooled nicely on the bicep area. Though said biceps were now encased in a flowing, voluminously-sleeved garment of silver that flickered with mauve highlights, Bilbo recalled the fine definition he had seen from afar, part of a gold-robed physique that spread awe and respect amongst many who viewed it, and a hopeless longing to be more greatly acquainted with it amongst others.

In spite of his new-found propensity for sneaking, it was the first time Bilbo had seen the great Elven King Thranduil at close quarters. And speaking of quarters, this looked to be the personal quarters, the dressing room in fact, of the majestic personage that the hobbit now beheld from behind a pillar. Closer inspection of the King’s legendary beauty was required, for a fellow cannot gaze on such magnificence through the myopic filter of a ring-spell without squinting and getting something of a watery eye-ache. With care, and daring his heart to continue beating so loudly, Bilbo withdrew the ring from his finger and patted it into place in his waistcoat pocket.

Now he could see with greater clarity the intensity of the stunning long-lashed blue eyes, offset by the grandeur of the masculine brows, and Bilbo felt himself falling under a different spell, an enchantment that endangered him greatly as his feet desired to walk towards the highly carved dressing table, where he felt he might present himself with a bow and then, no matter came next, he would be able to relish, for however short a time, the close proximity to the fabulous.

Ack! Bilbo shook his head and the spell cleared. Why, he was merely lonely – it was many a day now since his last Thorin-hug. And hungry. He was drunk on hunger. And now he could clearly see the decanter of wine, and the deep burgundy hue within, and his stomach moaned with longing for merely a liquid lunch if that’s all that were available, even without the spectacularly stinky bluest of cheeses that should always – always - be present with a quality red wine. He wondered if he could cause a diversion.

‘I know you’re there. Why do you linger in the shadows?’



Bilbo gasped as silently as only a hobbit can do, and stabbed his finger into his pocket, where the ring jumped straight back on with a magnetic force that was both horrifying and delicious. Only then dared he to poke his nose out from behind the pillar. To his horror, the Lord of the Woodland Realm glared in his direction, and Bilbo felt faint and knee-buckled, both at the fright of nearly being revealed, and the sheer power of the dangerous gaze coming from a being of such streamlined strength and graceful form as to make his well-muscled dwarven companions look like so many short squat garden gnomes.

‘I was coming to report to you.’ The she-elf of the flaming auburn hair strode past him. Bilbo’s relief was palpable, or would have been, if he had in fact been visible.

‘We cleared out the nest of spiders, just as you requested, my Lord.’

‘I need not praise you for that’ replied Thranduil, ‘for it’s no less than what I expect from you. What I do expect from you,’ his tone grew so icy that Bilbo almost had cause to blow on his fingers, ‘is to keep this these borders and this palace guarded against ALL intruders.’

‘Why my lord, if you speak of those dwarves…’ began the red-haired elf… ‘did we not serve your request thoroughly by letting none escape?’

‘I speak not of dwarves,’ the king continued in a haughty tone. ‘I speak very little of dwarves if I can help it, current circumstances aside. Take a look around you, Tauriel. What do you see? What do you sense?’

Tauriel turned slowly, her elf-eyes gleaming, eyebrows poised as if to fight each other, elegant nose twitching prettily. ‘There is another presence in the room’, she said, her voice dropping to an appealingly husky lower tone.

‘Correct,’ said the Elven King. ‘And it is a presence that has slipped past your nose. All of your noses. I am not happy.'

Bilbo gulped. The gig was up. He swallowed hard a couple of times and squeezed his eyes and fingers together, separately of course, wondering if it would be much easier to step forward right now and possibly beg a slice of Vogel bread and Mainland cheese (as all he’d been able to burglarize in the past day was a small bowl of puha salad which hadn’t even started to touch the sides, plus a couple of pipis on tiny sticks, which would be sneered at then laughed out the door by the average hors d’oeuvre served at a Bag End cocktail party) or whether it would actually be a little bit nice to be found and captured by the she-elf, her slender but iron-grip hands around his wrists.

But what was this? Bilbo cocked an eye open, expecting and - in a strange way that he couldn’t explain that felt weird and kind of pleasant deep in his tummy - hoping to see these two stunningly wonderous elves towering over him, but realising they were not looking even remotely in his direction.

That would seem to matter not a jot to Thranduil – he had seen the Elven King at last night’s banquet spear a hangi-baked kumara from a platter that had passed supposedly behind his back – oh how Bilbo had drooled for both the kumara and the ability to see food approaching from behind. At the time, Bilbo had been somewhat alarmed at this seemingly un-royal way of the King to serve himself, before he realised it may well have been a show of deadly skillz to the younger elves at the high table, and if one is king, and one has one’s eye on a certain root vegetable, then by the toe hairs of one’s favourite grandmother, one should jolly well help oneself with no fear of remonstrance. The banquet had concluded with a number of delightful kiwifruit and feijoa pies, which, Bilbo learned, had been baked by Thranduil himself, the smell of which had driven the poor hobbit mad and just about caused his stomach lining to turn and start devouring itself. Just he was wondering if any such pie might be uplifted from the royal pantry…





‘My prize orchid!’ thundered Thranduil. Bilbo gaped in astonishment, as he witnessed Tauriel hauling from the delicately-wrought wooden stand on the far side of the room, a pale-faced whimpering man-like creature. ‘What have you done, creature, with my Star of Lasgalen?’

‘Just a little souvenir,’ whispered the shaking creature, who on closer inspection was female-like in appearance. It pulled the crumpled flower head from its satchel then thudded to its knees, prostrating and somewhat projecting itself along the floor towards the Elf royalty.

‘What is it, my lord?’ asked Tauriel, a booted foot placed on the female’s back.

“It is a Thrall. I have encountered them on my trips abroad but they are rapidly growing in number, and I have not yet decided how best to make use of them. Until that time, I will keep this one to study.’

‘Oh please,’ uttered the Thrall in pleading tones. ‘Please study me all over!’

‘Silence! What is this magic device?’ Thranduil snarled, pointing at the glowing device in its hand.

‘It’s a ph—a ph, a ph-phone.’

‘And what is the use of this-- phone?’

‘My lordship, it is for taking videos and such, and sending messages to other fangirls. We mean no harm, we just want… want…’

The stammering Thrall made a grab, to clench the edge of his silver robe, but Thranduil side-stepped smartly around the jacuzzi which bubbled away quietly, awaiting the immersion of the royal magnificence into its ever-keen waters.

‘Oh great king, we worship the very ground you walk on. We simply want pictures to share, which we make into GIFs, and…’

‘Gifs!’ Tauriel snapped, stooping and wrapping the Thrall’s hair around her wrist. ‘What fresh trickery is this! Is it a goblin?’

‘Tauriel! Stand back. I will give this mortal what she wants. After all, she has come a long way to seek it, and her request is a mere trifle. It is my desire to be magnanimous in this case.’

He calmly paced several times across the room, then gestured to the floor. ‘There. Now quickly perform the task you seek.’

Struggling to its denim-clad knees, the Thrall with shaking hands operated the device with a click and a whirr, then, trembling greatly under the glittering gaze, presented the Elf King with the perfectly captured high resolution image of the ground he walked on.

‘Very good’, murmured Thranduil. ‘It looks exactly like my chamber floor, right down to that tiny fragment of my beloved Star’s petal, which I am still very very annoyed about by the way. Yet – I am willing to overlook this, on account of this artifact which carries with it a great power worth harnessing. It is a gift. And it is well indeed that it has come to me.’

The Thrall’s eyes were like well-shined saucers. ‘Your highness’, she gasped - for she had now been anointed with a personal pronoun - mouth moving like a guppy in full swim. ‘Could I… would you… you and me in a .. a selfie?’

But the Elven King was inspecting the magical properties of the object with a repetitive movement of a refined index finger, and his face was a sudden study of appalled hurt and indignation, with a deepening of the tantalizing furrow between the brows that had driven many an indifferent hobbit-fancier to conversion, spending sleepless hours desperately seeking its likeness lest they halt and catch fire with the madness.

He swooped suddenly and bent, his face close to the Thrall’s.

‘Speak, woman creature. You have captured, I see, the image of my son Legolas. With yourself in, as you say, a “selfie”. For what purpose? When did you accost him so?'

But his radiant proximity had done its worst and the Thrall could no longer speak. Her tongue was frozen, her mind bedazzled, fully star-struck, like a stag in the headlights of a hybrid SUV blundering expertly down a dirt road. Deep inside her nether regions, a vital organ was exploding. She would never bear children.



‘Take her away!’ ordered Thranduil. ‘Deliver her to the dungeons, Tauriel. And do not speak to the dwarves, especially that one with the designer stubble. Your fascination with facial hair is starting to get on my wick. Don’t think I didn’t notice you stroking the beard of that white-haired elder as you marched him from the throne room. After that, go forth and ensure that no more of these pathetic Thralls are broaching my territories.’

‘Right away, my lord’. Frowning, Tauriel collared the Thrall and pushed her up the stairs, as Bilbo flattened himself against the wall, feeling a little homesick for the cuddles of Balin’s beard.

Alone again in the presence of the fabulous, Bilbo sighed. Clearly this was not going to be an occasion that merited the delivery of leftover feijoa pie. It was time to try his luck at the pantries.

But, oh! Bilbo became rooted to the spot in amazed fixation, as the great Elven King opened a wooden box beneath the dressing table and drew forth a weapon, the like of which had never before been seen in Middle Earth. The hobbit’s restricted view prevented him from seeing exactly what happened next, (here, the author delicately side-steps around the issue of on-tap energy supply in Mirkwood, or lack thereof) but he was, unbeknownst to him, witnessing the powering up of the greatest of the Realm’s secret weapons – the Royal Hair Straightener.

The weapon hummed as it heated itself, eagerly awaiting contact with the locks for which a thousand Elven-Thralls would willingly crawl over hot orc carcasses, for to possess but three hairs from the golden head. The weapon glowed as its magical circuitry secretly yearned for and anticipated an as-yet undiscovered joy - the prospect of taming matted dwarvish fronds and rendering them with a silkiness that befitted these hallowed halls.

Revelations were still to come for the gobsmacked hobbit. With a resolute sigh, holding the (HTC)One Phone by its diamante-encrusted strap, Thranduil shrugged the silver robe from his powerful coat-hanger shoulders, and, revealing in all its awe-inspiring glory the physique that had been known to turn even the most stalwart dwarf-thrall’s head, stepped gracefully into the jacuzzi.

Wink

'People don't know where I begin and latex ends, which has always been an ambition for me.' (Martin Freeman)


Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Aug 10 2014, 5:52am

Post #9 of 19 (6777 views)
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*ROFL* Ah, me! Oh my... *applause* [In reply to] Can't Post

Kerewyn, you are hereby appointed official biographer to Bilbo Baggins, also know as the Hobbit of Bag End, Bag Shot Row, The Shire. Report there forthwith!

First: I am delighted and highly honoured that bit sparked this little gem from youBlushSmileHeart But I still contend this should have its own thread!

Thralls do suffer such horrible fates do they not? "But his radiant proximity had done its worst and the Thrall could no longer speak. Her tongue was frozen, her mind bedazzled, fully star-struck, like a stag in the headlights of a hybrid SUV blundering expertly down a dirt road. Deep inside her nether regions, a vital organ was exploding. She would never bear children." Nice image works there. Smile

Too bad we might never learn the truth about that selfie.Tongue More's the pity.

Oh my... the Ring's glamour is turning out to be quite the mundane reality:
"He’d become used to this by now – it was rather like looking through a pane of glass that one has spat on, only to find that, because a huge sneeze caused by housework – or should one say ‘holework’ - refuses to be diverted, one is forced to use one’s window cleaning rag in rapid emergency, being the temporary absence of one’s pocket handkerchief because the weather is unseasonably wet and they are all still drying by the fireplace in the front parlour, and then one forgets about the contents of one’s nostrils and goes to wipe the window with it anyway, leaving a nasty smudgy smear and really, it’s most annoying – one has to now find a clean cloth and start all over again – truly a day’s housework is best behind one, when a body can settle in front of the fire with feet up and enjoy a nice bowl of hapuka soup, a large hunk of bread and vegemite, and a cleanskin of … '

I am sniggering at the Hobbitty practicality of the narrative, and at the same time feeling envious of Bilbo's long acquaintance with Thranduil (however distantly), because this is truth: "Closer inspection of the King’s legendary beauty was required, for a fellow cannot gaze on such magnificence through the myopic filter of a ring-spell without squinting and getting something of a watery eye-ache. With care, and daring his heart to continue beating so loudly, Bilbo withdrew the ring from his finger and patted it into place in his waistcoat pocket."

And hey, someone obviously has been hiding the goodies in her larder. This is lard-up!, no doubt about itHeartHeartHeart:
"The wine was being delicately decanted into an elegantly-wrought vessel by the fine-fingered be-jewelled hands of the tallest Elf Bilbo had ever encountered in his humble life, taller even than Gandalf; glowing in both stature and the platinum blonde halo, which fell like a shimmering waterfall from the point above the alabaster temples to the point where it pooled nicely on the bicep area. Though said biceps were now encased in a flowing, voluminously-sleeved garment of silver that flickered with mauve highlights, Bilbo recalled the fine definition he had seen from afar, part of a gold-robed physique that spread awe and respect amongst many who viewed it, and a hopeless longing to be more greatly acquainted with it amongst others. "

Poor Bilbo, to be confused in his feels by perpetual hunger pangs and Elvenking thralldom. Heady combo indeed TongueSmile

So... do we now get a "Dear Diary" appendix in TW4 with regards to the unmentionably emotive hugs that disagreeable Dwarf metes out on the poor Hobbit with abandon? SlyEvil


I shall leave off, to keep from quoting the whole story and giving the climatic cliff-hanger away, but woohoo, gobsmacking revelations indeed!!!HeartHeartHeartHeartHeartHeartHeartHeartHeart *Still LoL'ing*


I'm a lurker. Fan of both books and movies; it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.


Heart Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX
(Tis true! More appreciation threads for Thranduil exist than ME movies)


Laugh Thrall Wars!: What business do Elves, Dwarves or Men(?) have with drooling thralls, yea, with smartphones in tow, unto the slopes of Erebor? ... oh, yes, the Hobbit's lingering in some shadows, ever ready to swoop to the hairy rescue. Take cover if you dare!
Teh partsies: Prologue (aka the 'tater-mash of whatever came before), Two, Three, Four (new! posted 16 Jul)


"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======
Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


(This post was edited by Lurker in the Mirk on Aug 10 2014, 6:00am)


Kerewyn
Rohan


Aug 11 2014, 12:39pm

Post #10 of 19 (6735 views)
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Wow, thanks for a great response, Lurker [smile] [In reply to] Can't Post

So glad you enjoyed Smile Smile And thanks for providing that gem of inspiration Laugh


Quote
Kerewyn, you are hereby appointed official biographer to Bilbo Baggins, also know as the Hobbit of Bag End, Bag Shot Row, The Shire. Report there forthwith!

Ooh, will it score me an invitation to a Bag End cocktail party?



Quote
Too bad we might never learn the truth about that selfie.More's the pity

Why, whatever do you mean?? A particular Elf in that sELFie is about to be called to his father's chambers, where he'll have to account for his part in said atrocity....



Quote
Oh my... the Ring's glamour is turning out to be quite the mundane reality:

Yep. A Ring of Power has to pull its socks up when its glamour is being compared to hobbit snot.



Quote
Poor Bilbo, to be confused in his feels by perpetual hunger pangs and Elvenking thralldom. Heady combo indeed

And it may quite distract him from his friends in the cells. Meanwhile Thorin waits and hopes...



Quote
So... do we now get a "Dear Diary" appendix in TW4 with regards to the unmentionably emotive hugs that disagreeable Dwarf metes out on the poor Hobbit with abandon?


Possibly..... hmmm........ Wink

'People don't know where I begin and latex ends, which has always been an ambition for me.' (Martin Freeman)

(This post was edited by Kerewyn on Aug 11 2014, 12:40pm)


Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Aug 11 2014, 1:36pm

Post #11 of 19 (6725 views)
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Haha [In reply to] Can't Post


Quote
Why, whatever do you mean?? A particular Elf in that sELFie is about to be called to his father's chambers, where he'll have to account for his part in said atrocity...

&

And it may quite distract him from his friends in the cells. Meanwhile Thorin waits and hopes...

&

Possibly..... hmmm........ Wink

Cliff-hanger resolution so needed... Sequel!





I'm a lurker. Fan of both books and movies; it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.


Heart Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX
(Tis true! More appreciation threads for Thranduil exist than ME movies)


Laugh Thrall Wars!: What business do Elves, Dwarves or Men(?) have with drooling thralls, yea, with smartphones in tow, unto the slopes of Erebor? ... oh, yes, the Hobbit's lingering in some shadows, ever ready to swoop to the hairy rescue. Take cover if you dare!
Teh partsies: Prologue (aka the 'tater-mash of whatever came before), Two, Three, Four (new! posted 16 Jul)


"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======
Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


(This post was edited by Lurker in the Mirk on Aug 11 2014, 1:36pm)


Avandel
Half-elven


Aug 11 2014, 6:36pm

Post #12 of 19 (6724 views)
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OMG Kerewyn I am going to have to work 10X harder now [In reply to] Can't Post

At a loss for words re how much I enjoyed this - the language is fabulous, it's witty, the details were luscious w. a bit of slyness - if you were in front of me I would grab you and shake you, seriouslyShockedShockedShocked. YOU HAVE BEEN HIDING YOUR LIGHT IN SOME DARK HOBBIT HOLE - or some forgotten mine shaft in Erebor (BTW if Thorin is down there let me know.....Wink)

You just made my MondayHeart. And if were just being polite I wouldn't be so effusive, I'm clapping and cheering. Far as I am concerned, Lurker and I need to suck you in as fast as those barrels went down river as part of the writing circle!!!!!
Oh, wow, a 3-wayWink Your images were great - this is just greatness. OMG you are GOOD.HeartHeartHeartHeartHeart

LOL next time I describe Thorin I'm gonna have to look up multiple languages to top this...


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Bilbo shook his head and the spell cleared. Why, he was merely lonely – it was many a day now since his last Thorin-hug.


Aaaawww. Yes, Mirkwood got the mountain king pretty stressed out, and it was too hot and sticky for hobbit-hugsFrown

ROFLOL the Thranduil Thrall - gawds that was perfect *wipes tears*. Shaking so much snaps a floor pic (but I wouldn't have been able to get THAT far, personally...)


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But his radiant proximity had done its worst and the Thrall could no longer speak. Her tongue was frozen, her mind bedazzled, fully star-struck, like a stag in the headlights of a hybrid SUV blundering expertly down a dirt road.....


*Cough* I know EXACTLY how that feels, seeing as I can't get through the Hobbit movies without replaying certain scenes three times. And how many times have I watched the DOS clip?CoolTongue



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revealing in all its awe-inspiring glory the physique that had been known to turn even the most stalwart dwarf-thrall’s head

You betchaWink. After all, the Lord of Silver Fountains isn't going to appreciate stupid insensitive thralls (
pale-faced whimpering man-like creatures LOL - 'coz we are pining away from Thorinitis...), and even Thorin appreciated the beauty of Orcrist and its grace. Just like I appreciate the beauty and grace of the feline Elven King *grins*

OK, Kerewyn, Lurker and I gotta bully you into joining us, somehow. This was *waves hands in air searching for words* like eating the best salted dark chocolate carmels with raspberry wine. YOU ARE GOOD. None of this shyness BS anymore thoWink, cat is outa the bag.CoolHeartTongueSmile




Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Aug 12 2014, 5:10am

Post #13 of 19 (6725 views)
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Right? [In reply to] Can't Post


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Far as I am concerned, Lurker and I need to suck you in as fast as those barrels went down river as part of the writing circle!!!!!
Oh, wow, a 3-wayWink Your images were great - this is just greatness. OMG you are GOOD.HeartHeartHeartHeartHeart

If I can be unashamedly posting ficcies, and be allowed to play in the big pool with you, Kerewyn has no bloody business hiding. NONE!

Now... I got to rethink the TW entry in the TA lexicon, cos no way this is gonna be a one-off gig.Mad



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Heart OMG Kerewyn I am going to have to work 10X harder now

Now, now. You've been working PLENTY hard - I'm still frankensteining TW5 *SWEATING bullets*, so chillax for a bit will'ya?Angelic TongueEvil



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Aaaawww. Yes, Mirkwood got the mountain king pretty stressed out, and it was too hot and sticky for hobbit-hugsFrown

Admit it, he was just enjoying the trippin too much to remember his poor Hobbit. Tongue



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ROFLOL the Thranduil Thrall - gawds that was perfect *wipes tears*. Shaking so much snaps a floor pic (but I wouldn't have been able to get THAT far, personally...)

imo, this ground-worshipping ranks right up there with that TW4 bit re Thorin worship in the afterblast: "Thorin’s casual hair toss and azure clear-eyed gaze once again resulted in any number of Thralls sagging to their knees, coming to gently rest in shifting piles of coins. Or landing in other unfortunate substances left by Smaug, including pools of corrosive dragon drool, which resulted in an immediate balding in a few of the Thralls - to their great distress, when they regained consciousness)." *snorting SNERTLE*



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OK, Kerewyn, Lurker and I gotta bully you into joining us, somehow. This was *waves hands in air searching for words* like eating the best salted dark chocolate carmels with raspberry wine. YOU ARE GOOD. None of this shyness BS anymore thoWink, cat is outa the bag.CoolHeartTongueSmile

Am so there!Evil I've *cough*commissioned that diary for TW4 for a start, and next thing you know we is gettin the Chronicles of Bilbo *MUAHAHAHA*





I'm a lurker. Fan of both books and movies; it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.


Heart Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX
(Tis true! More appreciation threads for Thranduil exist than ME movies)


Laugh Thrall Wars!: What business do Elves, Dwarves or Men(?) have with drooling thralls, yea, with smartphones in tow, unto the slopes of Erebor? ... oh, yes, the Hobbit's lingering in some shadows, ever ready to swoop to the hairy rescue. Take cover if you dare!
Teh partsies: Prologue (aka the 'tater-mash of whatever came before), Two, Three, Four (new! posted 16 Jul)


"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======
Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


Avandel
Half-elven


Aug 12 2014, 3:33pm

Post #14 of 19 (6713 views)
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ROFLOL poor Bilbo! [In reply to] Can't Post


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Admit it, he was just enjoying the trippin too much to remember his poor Hobbit. Tongue


LOL considering things are gonna go downhill faster than being on a cheap contaminated water slide at a fair, it's lovely the stressed-out Montain King got some relief. No doubt the warm-hearted and empathetic Elven King had observed the heavy hearts of his uninvited guests, and arranged for a blast of mega-spores. Kind of like being in Lothlorien without all the wafting and singing.Wink


"If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together" - Thorin, The Desolation of Smaug.

Thorinitis: Just that smokey barbecue sizzle on a bed of hot embers on a chill autumn night voice making you do things.




Kerewyn
Rohan


Aug 13 2014, 12:19pm

Post #15 of 19 (6695 views)
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Thank you for the lovely feedback... [In reply to] Can't Post

I would be delighted to continue contributing... in fact, I can see I have No Option. CrazyCoolBlushEvil *considers self bullied / cajoled / flattered into joining the Thrall Wars writing tag team* Heart

I simply must thank you both for the inspiration, the wonderously loaded imagery, and the adjective-larding to die for. LaughLaugh I would never have come up with this one wintery evening if not for what you'd already put in place! So much fun. Heart

OK, will put brain onto a sequel to this. Lurker has also challenged me with a Dear Diary for TW4... but the next step in this particular flashback saga is starting to formulate. Will it be like the 'challenging second album'? (Probably).

Did you notice a culinary theme? They are all foods found in New Zealand.

Oh also, let me post this: a piece of fan art cartooning I did back in 2005 - this is where my 'worship the ground you walk on' originated from (which I nicked from some cartoon I saw somewhere some time...)



This cartoony style is the only way I can draw really. Been trying to draw His Fabulousness but results so far have been unsatisfactory. Must... keep... practising...

'People don't know where I begin and latex ends, which has always been an ambition for me.' (Martin Freeman)

(This post was edited by Kerewyn on Aug 13 2014, 12:20pm)


Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Aug 13 2014, 12:55pm

Post #16 of 19 (6758 views)
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nah, that disagreeable Dwarf will lose the Company's way into them spores [In reply to] Can't Post


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LOL considering things are gonna go downhill faster than being on a cheap contaminated water slide at a fair, it's lovely the stressed-out Montain King got some relief. No doubt the warm-hearted and empathetic Elven King had observed the heavy hearts of his uninvited guests, and arranged for a blast of mega-spores. Kind of like being in Lothlorien without all the wafting and singing.Wink

all by hisself. Tongue




I'm a lurker. Fan of both books and movies; it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.


Heart Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX
(Tis true! More appreciation threads for Thranduil exist than ME movies)


Laugh Thrall Wars!: What business do Elves, Dwarves or Men(?) have with drooling thralls, yea, with smartphones in tow, unto the slopes of Erebor? ... oh, yes, the Hobbit's lingering in some shadows, ever ready to swoop to the hairy rescue. Take cover if you dare!
Teh partsies: Prologue (aka the 'tater-mash of whatever came before), Two, Three, three-appendix: An Unexpected Flashback by Kerewyn(new, posted 10 August), Four


"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======
Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


Lurker in the Mirk
Valinor


Aug 13 2014, 12:59pm

Post #17 of 19 (6690 views)
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All right! [In reply to] Can't Post


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I would be delighted to continue contributing... in fact, I can see I have No Option. CrazyCoolBlushEvil *considers self bullied / cajoled / flattered into joining the Thrall Wars writing tag team* Heart

Yay! *high-fives Avandel and sniggers*



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OK, will put brain onto a sequel to this. Lurker has also challenged me with a Dear Diary for TW4... but the next step in this particular flashback saga is starting to formulate. Will it be like the 'challenging second album'? (Probably).

EvilCan't wait! For both!



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Did you notice a culinary theme? They are all foods found in New Zealand.

Definitely! And I thought it was NZ Smile



Quote
Oh also, let me post this: a piece of fan art cartooning I did back in 2005 - this is where my 'worship the ground you walk on' originated from (which I nicked from some cartoon I saw somewhere some time...)


This was genius!

(Now I'm quaking nervously for TW5 Evil)




I'm a lurker. Fan of both books and movies; it seems I have severely misnamed myself... for the moment.


Heart Appreciating Thranduil, thread by thread: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX
(Tis true! More appreciation threads for Thranduil exist than ME movies)


Laugh Thrall Wars!: What business do Elves, Dwarves or Men(?) have with drooling thralls, yea, with smartphones in tow, unto the slopes of Erebor? ... oh, yes, the Hobbit's lingering in some shadows, ever ready to swoop to the hairy rescue. Take cover if you dare!
Teh partsies: Prologue (aka the 'tater-mash of whatever came before), Two, Three, three-appendix: An Unexpected Flashback by Kerewyn(new, posted 10 August), Four


"BoFA"= The Battle || "BotFA"/"tBofTA" = The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

=======
Middle-earth dispatches out of the lurkmirk


(This post was edited by Lurker in the Mirk on Aug 13 2014, 12:59pm)


Avandel
Half-elven


Aug 13 2014, 6:38pm

Post #18 of 19 (6689 views)
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SQUEEE!!!! I don't have to STALK Kerewyn.... [In reply to] Can't Post

And can go back to stalking Thorin *grins*. Yeah!!!! *applause*HeartHeartHeart. I am SO looking forward to thisTongue - tho maybe I shouldn't, because LOL I might get run over. By Thranduil's elk, yet.


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Did you notice a culinary theme? They are all foods found in New Zealand.


The whole post was DELICIOUS - that was wonderful! And I am in awe of the way you were able to choose just the right words that put pictures in my mind, so to speak. (And was making my hungry, too!). *Giggles and drools* at the descriptions of ThranduilHeartHeartHeart. PS. I am so bad, I thought it was funny to have Tauriel have her boot on a wriggling Thrall. But Thralldom cannot be contained, LOL!

I'm delighted we aren't going to be CHEATED of more of your talent. It's like the Hobbit movies, one post is definitely NOT enough. You've got too much talent to be selfish and keep to yourself (even if it scares me). And the day will come when we consolidate all of this so you will be part of a GREAT LITERARY EFFORT *grins*. I thought your cartoon was so funny - yep, definitely sounds like me and a camera. Especially if I ever met some of these actors and my hands would be shaking so badly *grins*. Thank you for posting that!




Kerewyn
Rohan


Aug 14 2014, 4:37am

Post #19 of 19 (6721 views)
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Heh... I write for radio [In reply to] Can't Post

"Theatre of the mind" is what we do. Smile

'People don't know where I begin and latex ends, which has always been an ambition for me.' (Martin Freeman)

 
 

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