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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 30 2016, 12:35am
Post #26 of 190
(9305 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
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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
(9294 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
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Thranduil's Very Secret Diary Part Two
[In reply to]
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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
(9292 views)
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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
(9287 views)
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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
(9244 views)
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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
(9223 views)
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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
(9224 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
(9208 views)
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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
(9201 views)
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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
(9194 views)
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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
(9177 views)
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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
(9156 views)
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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
(9150 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
(9136 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
(9133 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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