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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 3 2016, 3:08am
Post #76 of 190
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'Coz, you know, the Partei-Barge sort of travels in a loop and even against a current, on the River of Denial. Anyway, there's plenty of fuel aboard to get past the sandbars and such.  
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 3 2016, 3:27am
Post #77 of 190
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Ever, to read the thoughts of Thorin scrib'd in his own hand, brings joy . The impossible black chocolate of his voice can actually be felt, in the transcribed writings...
However, Fili, bless his heart, immediately sent a Raven letter to Beorn in which he casually and innocently repeated this cold-hearted statement along with other news and THAT should put an immediate and permanent end to all of the Beorning’s Honey Cake shipments to the Woodland Realm.
*Snigger*. You go, Fili!
Secret Mithril Royal Bling Room of Khazad-Dum
OMG. An epic CLASH . Even as I read, a fire kindled in my heart. The calm before the storm. Until the time when all Fang-gir-iells shall strap on their iron-toed over-the-knee boots and don their Hobbit T-shirts, and shall raise their voices as one:
"For the best hair in Middle Earth! Du Bekar!"
Thank you for leaking these pages from Thorin's diary. All Fang-gir-iells are in your debt.
(Now I have to go find some Epsom salts, as Lego's feet really are hurting from the dwarf boots...)
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 3 2016, 3:28am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 3 2016, 7:18am
Post #78 of 190
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Hair: Sassy
Mood: Probably just need another latte
Kingdom: Couldn't live without me
I was planning a pleasant morning, which was to consist of a huge soy latte with frosted sprinkles whilst contemplating my blondness and practicing my 'icy stare' in a really cool mirror Galadriel gave me during the last Age after she'd given me a tour of her gardens. I noticed at the time she had quite a stash of them and the 'mirror' thing is her favorite party trick and her preferred way of scaring the pants off ' Lothlórien Noobs', as she calls them, when I realised there was more to this mirror than initially met the eyes; even sapphire blue orbs of dazzling beauty, like mine. I was so pleased to get a mirror because it was so 'me' and I had heard of 'others' getting useless stuff like rope, itchy woolly capes, novelty nightlights in bottles and bags of Lembas bread - One bite may well fill the stomach of a grown man, but one bite of her Lembas may also result in losing a tooth. She's the worst baker in Middle Earth and is constantly offloading her dodgy Lembas onto unsuspecting travelers. I can't help but wonder sometimes if Galadriel doesn't have a very warped sense of humour.
I poured the water onto the surface of the Mirror pool and was gazing at my unspeakably lovely reflection when I saw an image of Mithrandir who appeared to be using a Mirror of Galadriel at the same time. I knew Glad's was flighty but I had no idea she gave these mirrors to everyone who has skipped through her azaleas, and it's a well known fact around here that Gandalf has been sighted in Lothlórien his weed whacker.
"My lord, Thranduil! I didn't know you had one of these too! I .. I was just ... Just about to reply to your message!" cried Mithrandir nervously, tapping the bowl of his pipe against the side of the mirror and taking a slug of something from a distinctly Elvish looking silver mug. I could tell he was lying through his teeth and he looked very shifty.
"Indeed." I said regally. "I was not aware that the Mirrors of Galadriel were so freely given, Mithrandir."
"Oh, we've all got one." Old Pointy Hat responded in a confidential tone. "Me, you, Elrond, some of the blonder and more muscly Horse Lords and I have heard tell of blacksmith in Bree, but that could be a vicious rumour. You and I, and possibly Elrond, have the upgraded Mirrors 10 version with Surround Sound, as we have just discovered, but I think the others are still running Mirrors 7. No one touched Mirrors 8 except Saruman and Radagast is still struggling to come to terms with his Mirrors Vista but... His best friend is a hedgehog, so what can you expect?" And as suddenly as he had appeared, Mithrandir vanished. I tried in vain to reconnect but he was gone, I kept getting a message that said Gandalf_123 Is Offline written across the pool in twinkly lights no matter how much water I poured on it. Disappointing.
In other news I had a strange missive from Beorn written in what appears to be, well ... Honey. It is short and to the point. It reads "NO MOAR HUNNEY KAKEZ FOR YOUS!" Curious.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 3 2016, 7:06pm
Post #81 of 190
(9953 views)
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I was so pleased to get a mirror because it was so 'me' and I had heard of 'others' getting useless stuff like rope, itchy woolly capes, novelty nightlights in bottles and bags of Lembas bread - One bite may well fill the stomach of a grown man, but one bite of her Lembas may also result in losing a tooth. She's the worst baker in Middle Earth and is constantly offloading her dodgy Lembas onto unsuspecting travelers. I can't help but wonder sometimes if Galadriel doesn't have a very warped sense of humour. Probably because U.S. tourist areas happily sell 'wee bottles of sand and air and water and hot sauce and everything imaginable, IMO this is all hilarious - made my morning
I kept getting a message that said Gandalf_123 Is Offline written across the pool in twinkly lights no matter how much water I poured on it.
Well, you know, Gandalf has a busy social calender at the moment . A rolling stone gathers no moss, as it were. And, too, he's managed to diplomatically endure much of Galadriel's baking by claiming that it is "the most delicious biscotti in Middle Earth" and making sure it gets a good soak in Bilbo's Special Morning Dark Roast before carefully using his staff to blast the confections into manageable bits.
Otherwise Galadriel may start "feeling poorly" as she puts it, when her head starts spinning around.
Now I gotta go join the other Fang-gir-iells in staring with jealousy at that mousy one with the flat chest who somehow, inexplicably, seems to have at least momentarily been of interest to the dwarf king . Although the lanky chic seems to be spending most of the morning rubbing her forehead - can't even deal with the single cocktail from the night before! Lindir, however, is in fine spirits hur, hur, and has asked Fili to make him his own double-headed war hammer. We are all in favor of this, as we just love it when Durin hair is all damp and fluffy from working the forges.
PS:
Hair: Sassy
Mood: Probably just need another latte
Kingdom: Couldn't live without me You go, Thranduil!
An Elvish folk song wafts from the Partei Barge. The mousy Fang-gir-iell groans at the thought of Thranduil overhearing THIS ONE and wonders how fast she can make the shore "I'm bringing sexy back! Those other boys just don't know how to act..."
Take it to the chorus!
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 3 2016, 7:16pm
Post #82 of 190
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Inquring minds want to know...
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The Elves are using Mirror 10, seriously???
Ha ha ha ha ha
Loud guffaws and snorts of contemptuous dwarven laughter as they seamlessly sync their silver MithrilBook Air Ravens to their iThrush 6S's while simultaneously playing "Knock the Snail" and "Find the Arkenstone" on their ultra light iHobbit Mini 4's.
Snort, chuckle, gasp... Elves, huh? Golly, what can you say? They really do linger in a realm of memory and sorrow...
 
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 4 2016, 7:59pm
Post #83 of 190
(9897 views)
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Thorin's Diary, Part IV, The Bling Raid
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Thorin’s Diary, Part IV
The Bling Raid
Next Day, Late Afternoon
Whew - what a day of grim preparation for the most dangerous dwarf raid since… well, since my last raid when I kicked the dragon out of Erebor, and also since the time before that when I led my company as we hacked our way out of the goblin tunnels, and also since the time before that when I led the charge that defeated Azog’s army right here at Moria… and, well, anyway the most dangerous raid in a long time.
As I was saying, we spent the day in grim, dwarven preparation, with all the crew restricted to light beverages only and lots of protein. Fill and his elite Fang-gir-iells were hard at it all day down in his smithy, sharpening swords and knives and those little pointy nail files that are so popular with the ladies, while Kili and his personal guard checked and repaired all the armor and the Par-tei girls got together and composed some very impressive war chants. The lyrics are somewhat strange to the dwarvish ear, but the rhythms, with much stamping of feet and clashing of sword against shield, are music to gladden the heart of any dwarf and already the hammers in the smithy are keeping time and Minty is swishing her tail right along with the music. As for the Burglar, he is keeping the coffee flowing.
Now we plan the raid.
Next Day, Evening
Much to tell, but first - wonderful news. Received a Raven letter from Erebor and to everyone’s delight, Balin, Oin and Ori are coming to the Barbecue. It’s a long journey, but according to the letter they have already started and should be here any day. If only they had come sooner, what a help they would have been on the Bling Raid; well, maybe Ori wouldn’t have been that much help, but willing hearts are always welcome and he did finally pick up a real weapon at Erebor.
As for the raid, we spent yesterday evening in the traditional grim dwarven war council, planning our strategy, making sure everyone was familiar with the route, and impressing upon the Par-tei girls that they mustn’t get distracted by any shiny objects that we encounter along the way. In addition, Fili, Kili and I held a separate council, in which Kili was inducted into the Secrets of the Royal Bling, just in case things went ill and it was up to him to finish the mission. Afterward we slept lightly and were up before dawn, donning helm and armor, hefting shield and weapon and chanting one of the new war chants as the sun rose. I left the Lindir elf to guard Minty, telling him that this was a great honor, but in sooth, I don’t trust an elf to know the secret ways of Moria, and, just so he wouldn’t be lonely, I left the tall, shy, lanky Fang-gir-iell there with him. (The Lindir elf is the only one in the crew who is as tall as her, so I’m hoping they will hit it off if I keep throwing them together.) Then I led the way (grimly) into the dark maw of Moria. The tunnels, rooms and passageways were as familiar to me as though I had lived there, for my father had impressed the sacred knowledge, passed down through the generations, onto me every day of my youth, and down, down, down we went, deep under the first level, with no sign of orcs or goblins, and finally we reached the First Invisible Door. After ordering everyone except Fili and Kili to cover their ears, I raised my sword and spoke the secret password in my most royal commanding voice:
APARECIUM ALOHOMORA!
The door shimmered into visibility and then swung silently open. A silent dark tunnel loomed ahead and we continued, twisting and turning, counting and choosing passageways to left or right, always going down, and then the Second Invisible Door blocked our way. The girls covered their ears again and I took a deep breath, raised my sword and boldly commanded:
BOMBARDA MAXIMA!
The door appeared for one brief instant, then exploded inward and we picked our way cautiously over the rubble and continued downward. (Alas, closing this one behind us on our way out was somewhat problematic, and we finally had to just leave it. Not really a good door opening system.)
More dark turnings and twistings, always down and down and down, and finally we came to the Third Invisible Door, and I took a deep breath, tossed my hair back #majestically, focused all my royal will on the task ahead, and then pounded three times on the door with the hilt of my sword and shouted in a deep, booming voice:
OPEN UP IN THERE!
A brief pause and then the door swung silently inward and there stood (somewhat crookedly) The Last Nameless Dark Thing at the Root of the Mountain - Kevin. Truth to tell, it was a bit of a letdown. Kevin looked at us for a moment with his Good Eye and then shuffled to one side and bid us enter, and there before us, under quite a few layers of slime, was the vast mithril treasure store of Khazad-Dum. Even under its layers of nameless goop it was breathtaking, pile upon pile of priceless mithril treasures - swords, spears, knives, armor, shields, helmets, boots, vambraces, necklaces, belts and rings, all studded with priceless jewels and embellished with magnificent inlays of gold. At this point my memory gets a little fuzzy but Fili and Kili say that I started hissing slightly and mumbling things like, “I will not part with a single coin” and “Mithril beyond measure” but apparently they had come prepared for this and immediately poured a 24-oz. cup of Death by Coffee down my throat while waving an acorn in front of my face and surprisingly, that did the trick.
So everyone started picking up mithril items and stuffing them into the sacks we had brought along until we could carry no more. There was a brief awkward moment when Kevin demanded some identification from me, saying that he could only release the treasure to a verified direct descendent of Durin, and we argued for awhile, with me pointing out that only a direct descendent of Durin would know the passwords and Kevin saying that I could be an imposter who had tortured the secret out of the real Thorin. Eventually Fili, Kili and I drew our swords and ran at him shouting “Du Bekar” and he admitted that we certainly acted like Durins and gave in and resigned himself to just moping around and grumbling about dwarves inviting themselves into other people’s houses and helping themselves to whatever takes their fancy. Well, I’ve heard the same thing over and over from the Burglar, so I ignored it and eventually we had all we could carry and left, making sure to shut the door behind us, although I noticed that before we left some of the Par-tei girls were whispering with Kevin and pointing upward toward the surface. I should probably be worried about that but I have enough on my mind right now.
The return trip up to the entrance was uneventful, without a single goblin attack, no cave-ins and no injuries of any sort to the troops. Another disappointing letdown, actually, but we grimly succeeded in our fell purpose and that’s the important thing.
So now we are back at the lake and I’m allowing the Par-tei girls to organize the appropriate celebration where songs will be sung, tales will be told and the Bling Raid will pass into legend. Then tomorrow we have to start cleaning this icky goo off of the treasure.
Next Day
Whew, thank the seven rings of the Dwarf Lords for the the Burglar’s new coffee machine. Note to self - never tell the Par-tei girls they can celebrate any way they want. What was I thinking? As best I can remember the war chants were carried on long into the night and the Shadow and Flame drinks were supplemented by something new called a Mithril Monster, poured from a bottle that had something that looked like an actual miniature tentacle in the bottom and supplemented with lime and salt. I avoided them as inconspicuously as possible, but the Lindir elf downed three in a row and then started dancing something the elves call the Mirkwood Mambo with Kevin, who had crawled out of his hole to join the festivities. It started out well, but ended badly when the elf stepped on Kevin’s tentacles with his new dwarf boots and Kevin went back to his slime room in a sulk.
Afternoon
The crew is full of coffee and pretty well recovered so the mithril cleaning has begun. It’s quite a job, cleaning that much mithril. Little know fact - mithril is actually as common as quartz in Moria, but obviously the dwarves had to hoard it secretly and only release it a few pieces at a time in order to keep the price point where it should be. Nonetheless, this raid and the revelation of so much glory is necessary to teach the prince of Smirkwood a much needed fashion lesson and so the cleaning and sorting continues.
Late Afternoon
The spectacle of such vast quantities of glorious, gleaming bejeweled mithril is beyond description. The boys and I carefully sorted through the treasure and chose the finest pieces to array ourselves like Dwarf Lords of Old and the sight was so overwhelmingly brilliant that the Par-tei girls had to share their sunglasses with the Fang-gir-iells so all could gaze on our glory. (Oddly, the Lindir elf and the tall, lanky one had no problem looking straight at us without even shading their eyes. Strange.)
As a final cap to the day, I climbed the Dimrill Stairs, all the way to the top, and as the setting sun glanced brightly shimmering and glittering off of my mithril and diamond outerwear, I faced north, raised my sword on high, and called out a royal challenge to the pasty faced King of the Hoodlum Realm in my deepest, most #majestic voice:
“NOBODY OUTBLINGS A ROYAL DWARF.
NOBODY!”
_______________
Translator’s note:
Unknown to Thorin, at this exact moment a slightly near-sighted watchman of Rohan looked to the north and saw the brightly shimmering flare of sunlight on mithril on top of a far-off mountain and ran shouting into the Golden Hall, “My lord, my lord, the beacons are lit, the beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!” Trumpets blared, horses were saddled, messengers were sent, and the King said, “Gather the Rohirrim. In three days we ride!”
Less than a week later, a Gondorian watchman with much better vision saw the hosts of Rohan galloping over the border towards Minas Tirith and lit his beacon, crying out, “My lord, my lord, Rohan is attacking Gondor!” Trumpets blared, horses were saddled, messengers were sent, and the Steward said, “Prepare to defend the White City!”.
Thus the two armies galloped unwittingly towards each other and to a battle that would have ended the long friendship between Gondor and Rohan, but fortunately, just when they were only a furlong apart, a grumpy old Gondorian farmer hobbled out between the armies, forcing them to stop rather than run over him, and the farmer said, “Say there, horseboys, where’s the fire? And who told you to ride those nags across my turnip field?” Thus a pause was taken, explanations were exchanged, and scouts were sent from both armies to investigate the mysterious glittering flare upon the far off mountain top.
________________
To be continued
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 4 2016, 11:28pm
Post #84 of 190
(9884 views)
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They're Old School, what can I say?
“NOBODY OUTBLINGS A ROYAL DWARF.
NOBODY!” Yeah, yeah Keep talking, Thorin, keep telling yourself that 
Ha! Typical Dwarves, causing trouble, but this time with the Gondorians and the Rohirrim Thank goodness for the turnips! <<< Never thought I'd ever say that, however ...
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 4 2016, 11:39pm)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 4 2016, 11:33pm
Post #85 of 190
(9881 views)
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Lindir, however, is in fine spirits hur, hur, and has asked Fili to make him his own double-headed war hammer. We are all in favor of this, as we just love it when Durin hair is all damp and fluffy from working the forges Lindir is going to be in soooo much trouble! You do know that Thranduil's punishment for none-Elvishness among Elves is the forced removal of two inches of the 'criminals' hair, don't you?
And, too, he's managed to diplomatically endure much of Galadriel's baking by claiming that it is "the most delicious biscotti in Middle Earth" Ooooh! Mayhap Gandalf invented biscotti?! That Gandalf is such a charmer!
Now I gotta go join the other Fang-gir-iells in staring with jealousy at that mousy one with the flat chest who somehow, inexplicably, seems to have at least momentarily been of interest to the dwarf king. I don't know who I feel more sorry for, the 'spy' or Thorin
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 4 2016, 11:41pm)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 1:59am
Post #86 of 190
(9875 views)
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PS. The morning after....(a bit of fluff)
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Well, reading some newer posts, it seems that the Mountain King's ire was raised. Still, it's nice to know that Thorin believes in HARMONY and DIPLOMACY. Except when he doesn't feel like it.
****************************
The morning after the runt orc incident, Bilbo was finally able to get the last of the coffee supplies re-organized after the ruckus of the night. He jauntily re-knotted his silk neck scarf, which admittedly was little more than a few tattered threads hanging together. But it was a point of honor with him to continue repairing it as best as he could, with the help of the sympathetic Fang-gir-iells.
The women HAD presented Bilbo with something they called an “infinity tube scarf” that bore the most vague resemblance to Gandalf’s silvery wrap. It was magic, they said, you can create hundreds of styles! Not wanting to hurt their feelings, Bilbo had allowed the Fang-gir-iells to stretch the loose rat-fur, sparkling, lightweight knit over his shoulders and head. See, in case he was ever in the mountains again, he’d have protection!
But the previous night, Bilbo had eventually passed out in exhaustion after the evening of harp music (which had resulted in the Fang-gir-iells sobbing quietly into all the silky draperies they had borrowed from Rivendell). It actually had turned out to be quite a lovely night, the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-Girls all settled at Thorin’s feet, swathed in yards of fine cloths, gazing adoringly at the Heirs of Durin.
The Mountain King had been comfortably seated on a container of marinating fruit, the soft breeze dancing through the dark mane of hair, strong fingers coaxing sweet tones from the instrument. Lindir had stood behind Thorin, proudly lighting up Thorin’s jar of “Shadow and Flame”, the twin horns of his helmet burnished with the reflection of the fire. Bilbo was squashed between the handsome princes, snuggled in his itchy scarf, smoking pipes of fragrant Old Toby. Thorin’s haunting voice had wound a spell over all, and even the face of the mousy sullen Fang-gir-iell had relaxed, except for the occasional tic of her eyelid.
But perhaps predictably, Bilbo had not slept well. Strange dreams had assaulted him, visions of being stuffed into a white leather gown with a metal plate chest piece, standing hand in hand with Thorin in a field of Old Toby. Azog had been wiping his eyes with the tail of his savagely toothed warg, who was busy finishing off a large white cake. The Elven King, shimmering in a silver robe, was using an amber-headed staff to stay upright, because he was laughing so hard. Fili was nestled between two Fang-gir-iells with the crown of Erebor on his head, grinning and giving Bilbo a thumbs-up sign. An ethereal-looking blonde elvish woman was floating on a cloud next to Gandalf, and they both were raining down pink sparkles from their hands.
Bilbo woke up in his cabin screaming, fumbling for Sting. The innocent tube scarf had been turned into so many dust balls, because Bilbo had been convinced he was once again wrapped up in Mirkwood spider silk and had completely freaked out in the darkness. He tore the fragile knitwear from his body and hacked it apart. The noise had roused the whole boat, and any number of Fang-girl-iells were now sporting various cuts and bruises from crowding into the hobbit’s dark cabin. Thorin, Fili, and Kili had burst in, weapons drawn, the mountain king driven to battle fury from Minty’s anxious whinny.
Of course dwarf eyes were more than comfortable in the darkness, and had instantly ascertained that their brave little hobbit, was in fact, dispatching a tangled mound of nylon and polyester yarn. Had the fey Elven King been present, the lanky, mousy-haired Fang-gir-iell thought, he would have understood completely. Woe betide the tailor who entered Thranduil’s halls with any kind of cloth that might be termed “economical”. Those unfortunates were invited to speedily leave the kingdom by means of the swift-flowing river, with no barrel to speak of.
To Thorin’s credit, he had his nephews shoo out the Fang-gir-iells and #Majestically let the trembling hobbit collect himself while he lit a lamp. Bilbo retrieved a jar of Burglar Bomb from under the bed. #Majestic dwarf and hobbit had sat side by side on Bilbo’s bed, passing the jar back and forth. They stared at the sad mound of shredded yarn on the floor.
Thorin had smiled a gentle smile as Bilbo, still twitching, told Thorin of his terrifying dream. It was beyond horrible, he said tearfully. His kind were a gentle folk and slow to rile. But the fury of hobbits discovering that all the cake was gone, at any social event, would result in the kind of unbridled rage that caused entire villages to be burnt to the ground. Besides, Bilbo hated himself in white, it made his skin look tired. He needed russet and jewel tones.
“Bilbo,” the mountain king had rumbled in his chocolate-wine voice (that cause so many to throw themselves to the floors, thanking the Valar), “With all the surprising wisdom you have shown on our journey, you still have much to learn. What will you see when you step from your door today?”
Bilbo’s eyes brightened. His curly-haired race loved riddles. “A brilliant sunrise? A day possibly full of mildly interesting experiences such as blueberry pancakes? Women who look like they are all too poor to afford enough clothes except for thigh-high boots?”
The mountain king’s stunningly clear blue, thickly lashed eyes gazed at the Hobbit warmly. “Why, yes, my good burglar, there is the distinct possibility of all that. Indeed, the boots are to be most hoped for. But what you DEFINITELY will see is something as wondrous as the flickering lights that stream over the mountains like colored ribbons, during the coldest winter nights.”
“And that, my friend, is HARMONY.”
Bilbo wrinkled his nose in confusion as he sipped from the jar, and passed it back to Thorin. Thorin tossed back a healthy swig and shook out his chiaroscuro of tumbling darkling hair, squaring his powerful shoulders like a contented tiger. “But Thorin,” Bilbo said questioningly, brow furrowed. “I don’t recall actually seeing ANY harmony for weeks. There’s still showers of meat and gristle every day!”
Thorin’s laugh would have sent the Fang-gir-iells into comas. “As long as you have been in my company, hur, hur, you yet sweat the small stuff? I know that prancing fop in his tick-infested swamp proclaims that I do little actual kinging except slaughter innocent creatures and brood #Majestically as the wind swirls my hair into a becoming tangled mane. And verily, for Durins’ sons - that, in fact, IS a great responsibility. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about Fili’s growing #Majestic skills, and Kili has a fascinating appeal of his own.”
“But Middle Earth forgets I spent many, many, years at the side of my grandfather and father. Many years enduring having my feet trod on by dwarrodams eagerly seeking to become the next Queen of Erebor. Perhaps you thought the destruction wrought by Smaug, or the burning of Laketown, was terrible? I can barely speak of the damage done to Erebor’s second ballroom, which was utterly destroyed by a dwarrodam riot. Simply because I inquired if one dwarrodam had a nice trip to Erebor, and another accused her of being “forward”. Mind you, dwarrowdams don’t mess about in a fight. There are still axe heads in the walls. And so, I learned a critical lesson that will stay with me through my #Majestic life.”
“And that is, when dealing with females, NEVER SHOW FAVORITISM.
My innocent halfling, I feel ‘tis this potential for awful danger which grows with each additional Fang-girl-iell, that weighs upon you, and so your troubled heart caused this nightmare. But do not forget, after all, that I AM the Heir of Durin, and have been trained since birth in the NUANCES of DIPLOMACY. Why, Middle Earth still speaks in wonder of my astute (and sensitive) interactions with the ruler of Smirkwood and even that boring disrespectful peasant in Laketown.”
“And so, and please take this to heart, naught will be done to disturb the HARMONY of the Partei-Barge. Even Fili takes care to equally distribute all those knives he forges!”
“Now come,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo’s shoulder a squeeze so firm that Bilbo’s collarbone creaked in protest. Thorin opened the cabin door, and there was hint of a rosy sunrise. “Let us give Minty her morning feed, and see of these “blueberry pancakes”. We should be just in time for the next shower of crispy bacon.”
Later, Bilbo looked over at Kili while giving the coffee bar a final wipe-down. Kili was seated in a deck chair frowning in concentration over a bit of parchment. He was attempting to construct a response to a small package that had arrived after the blueberry pancake and bacon breakfast. The package apparently had contained a cloth band with a heavily stylized red sun embroidered on it. Every now and again, Kili would pull the cloth from his tunic, and passionately press his lips to it.
“Bilbo, how does this sound to you? Do you think it’s too much?” Kili asked, with those earnest deep amber chocolate eyes that had the Fang-gir-iells fighting for the honor of scraping the mud off his boots.
Roses are red,
Just like your hair,
The way you knife orcs,
Has my heart in the air
Bilbo thought long and hard about what Thorin had said about dwarf DIPLOMACY and HARMONY.
“It’s a real tribute, Kili,” Bilbo said finally. “Very much on point.” Kili smiled happily and went back to marking the parchment with his pink and red crayons. Privately, Bilbo thought that Thorin needed to spend some more time with his younger nephew. And soon. Hopefully before the Balrog Barbecue. And across the deck, a Fang-gir-iell with mousy brown hair narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Kili.
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 5 2016, 2:03am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 5 2016, 5:54am
Post #87 of 190
(9849 views)
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I'm very close to the King, I am. It's my actual job, right, to be NO more than two feet away from him at any given time. Not everyone could do my job and survive, 'cos, the secret of it is what them wizards call "spacial 'wareness". Too far away and when His Royal Fabulousness reaches out for his dinner, he might actually have to 'stretch' and stretching, as His Royal Fabulousness says (or as we call him, HRF) is for mortals, innit? Too close to him, and if someone or somefing were to attract HRF's attention and were he to turn his head too fast, that crown of his would have yer eye out. So yeah. "Spacial 'wareness". Not everyone has it.
I've given meself to this job man and boy. In fact it's not a job, it's what you might call a 'vocation'. I'm a single man 'cos no she-elf would put up wiv me running round after HRF all day and night. I sleep when he sleeps, wake when he wakes and I am always right there, when he needs me, mornin', noon and night, wiv me tray at the ready.
So today, right, I was following in HRF's wake as usual,and he comes across Elros and instead of ignoring him, as he's been doing for the past couple of days, he decides to have a bit of a word.
"Again I find you concealed in the recesses of my Halls snivelling, Elros. Your hair is fabulous, so why do you weep?" I could tell HRF was giving Elros what we footmen call 'The Look', and woe betide you if you get The Look. HRF was right of course, and ain't he always? Elros's hair is fab'lous. His scalp is a bit on the pink and scabby side after four applications of Moonlight Blonde in two days and his eyebrows now have to be drawn on wiv a pencil, but his hair is fab'lous.
"I am hungry, my Lord" Elros said wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
"Hungry? For what do you hunger, Elros? Fame? Fortune? Don't tell me! Your King's love?" HRF said as sweetly as you please, wiv a smile as would break yer heart, his regal head turned slightly to one side in anticipation of an answer he likes. Now, Elros is in a tricky position here, 'cos the right answer would have been agreeing to the last thing on HRF's list, but not Elros. I reckon, he's a bit thick.
"It's the diet, my Lord ..." Elros said looking at the floor.
"Ah! The diet." HRF said very quietly. Cue That Smile. That Smile he smiles wiv with mouth but his eyes don't join in. Know what I mean? He's a like a cat playing wiv a mouse.
"Yes, my Lord. Leek and Cabbage Curry three times a day. It isn't agreeing with me ..." At this HRF raised a finger to Elros. This is King code, for those who ain't in the know, for 'Shut Up. Now.'
"Did I, or did I not, give you the pantyhose?" HRF said imperiously. He's good at Imperious is the King.
"Yes, my Lord and ..."
"And, NOTHING!" HRF said still more or less in the imperious vein. "If the pantyhose can contain certain issues when it comes to my son, a PRINCE of this realm, they will do the same for YOU, peasant! You are eating what MY son eats every day! He's a picky eater and it's his favorite! Who are YOU to decide?" HRF was getting into his stride now, so to speak. "You do know this diet was necessary don't you?" HRF leaned towards Elros so close that Elros had no choice but to stand there and whimper as HRF's voice dropped to a whisper. "ALL the men in my family since the BEGINNING of us, ALL have had cheekbones so sharp, so sculpted, so fabulous that you could grate cheese on them! Legolas is NO different, and his DIET is the reason why! And you? What have you got?" HRF pushed this point home by poking Elros in the chest.
"Nothing, my Lord .." Elros's strangulated voice pushed out.
"A little louder, if you please .." HRF said so quiet, so cold.
"Nothing!" Elros squeaked.
"Good. We understand one another. You will persist with the diet until you possess the cheekbones of a Prince, otherwise no one will be fooled into believing that you are MY son and not some moon faced impostor at the Barbecue!"
"But my Lord, surely a slice of bread ..." At this HRF closed his eyes and held up that 'shut up' finger again.
"Elros, no bread has passed my lips for 5000 years. Do you know what I eat to maintain this face?" HRF pushed the face in question aggressively towards Elros. "And this?" HRF gestured towards what was called in SheElf's Weekly 'The Elvenking's tall, broad shouldered and yet strangely willowy frame'. "Do you know what it takes to be voted Hottest Elf in Middle Earth for 5000 CONSECUTIVE years?"
"Leek and Cabbage Curry, my Lord?" Elros said hopefully.
"NO!" HRF thundered. "Galion, tell Elros what I subsist on! Tell him the only thing that passes my lips!" HRF cried turning swiftly to me.
"Just grapes, my Lord" I said proudly.
"Just grapes?" Elros questioned, his face was a vision of confusion, if you pardon me being all poetical there, but being wiv HRF 24/7 does rub off a bit.
"Just grapes." HRF said firmly. "For 5000 years, nothing but grapes, and look at me! Fabulous."
"Fermented grapes." I added helpfully.
"But that's w..." Elros whispered under his breath before bursting into tears again as HRF prowled off down the passageway with me, as usual, two feet behind wiv some fermented grapes, in a glass, on me tray.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 5 2016, 6:08am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 5 2016, 6:01am
Post #88 of 190
(9850 views)
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“Bilbo, how does this sound to you? Do you think it’s too much?” Kili asked, with those earnest deep amber chocolate eyes that had the Fang-gir-iells fighting for the honor of scraping the mud off his boots. "Roses are red, Just like your hair, The way you knife orcs, Has my heart in the air" Cute!
And across the deck, a Fang-gir-iell with mousy brown hair narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Kili. Ah ... Trouble afoot, perhaps?
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 5:28pm
Post #89 of 190
(9795 views)
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Although, alas, not on Mithril Monsters . But it's early yet...still, I may need a lunch pick-me-up, Such TENSION. OMG, one only has to read the translat'd prose to feel the HEAVINESS of the the GATHERING STORM. It's like watching binge watching GOT (right up to where Tywin Lannister finds he will, in fact, be spending eternity in a small cozy room, where someone thoughtfully left a large stack of parchment and a bottle of wine.)
Yes, I am a fan of Thorin. A Fang-gir-iell. But lo! My heart doth shatter at this latest evidence of the heart-singing courage of the Mountain King. THE FIRE:
As a final cap to the day, I climbed the Dimrill Stairs, all the way to the top, and as the setting sun glanced brightly shimmering and glittering off of my mithril and diamond outerwear, I faced north, raised my sword on high, and called out a royal challenge to the pasty faced King of the Hoodlum Realm in my deepest, most #majestic voice:
“NOBODY OUTBLINGS A ROYAL DWARF.
NOBODY!”
Oh, the Sil and other such tomes are whispered of. Star Wars, where entire planets are obliterated. But. I slide on the entire set of multi-color sparkle bangles that I got at 50% off from a home shopping channel. Let the War of Bling begin. Some things are worth wobbling around in 4-inch stiletto heels for. Ravenhill, Helm's Deep, Pelennor Fields - all have lead to this moment of SUPREME epicness.
Or, as Thorin told his nephews later - "I could see the forest fop's house from there..." And the Fang-gir-iells stand ready, with the special mink oil shampoo and conditioner, and contracted for a wind machine (just in case Saruman starts tinkering again...)
LOL:
More dark turnings and twistings, always down and down and down, and finally we came to the Third Invisible Door, and I took a deep breath, tossed my hair back #majestically, focused all my royal will on the task ahead, and then pounded three times on the door with the hilt of my sword and shouted in a deep, booming voice:
OPEN UP IN THERE!
*Snigger*. And I wonder, in the squishiest recesses of Kevin's mind, does not the now-ever present wafting smell of bacon trouble his slow thoughts?
OMG:
I left the Lindir elf to guard Minty, telling him that this was a great honor, but in sooth, I don’t trust an elf to know the secret ways of Moria, and, just so he wouldn’t be lonely, I left the tall, shy, lanky Fang-gir-iell there with him. (The Lindir elf is the only one in the crew who is as tall as her, so I’m hoping they will hit it off if I keep throwing them together.)
OMG, OMG. How can Thorin so casually record his thoughts? Or does some secret, dwarf motivation, some dark suspicion wrap itself (with difficulty through the mane of hair) though Thorin's mind? Or is it merely Thorin's inherent great heart, that he is clumsily being kind to the shy, mousy Fang-gir-iell who developed an eyelid tic after hearing Misty Moutains Cold sung 132 times? (I just chewed off my last nail and tossed down another Mithril Monster o'er the tension of it all - oh, well, guess no work is getting done today...)
ROFLMAO the Translator's Note *wipes eyes*. I laughed so hard the cat ran for it...OMG.
Verily, while the Mountain King may not wot of it, nor the Forest King, it would seem that all of Middle Earth is slowly, inexorably, being swirled into a conflict of epic proportions, that will alter the universe. Meanwhile, a man in a rumpled white shirt has locked himself in his leather sofa room and is refusing to come out, even though a dark-haired woman is trying to tempt him with an entire assortment of teabags she picked up from a hotel convention.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 5:48pm
Post #90 of 190
(9787 views)
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And across the deck, a Fang-gir-iell with mousy brown hair narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Kili.
But who can say, when said Fang-gir-iell now suspects that she and Bilbo (and she is none too sure about Bilbo) are the only sane beings in all of Middle Earth?
War is coming! The die has been cast, the gauntlet slapped, a wobbly (because everyone had Irish coffee this morning) line drawn! And yet, in the midst of such CHAOS, when the perfectly wind-blown silken tresses of light and dark will join in a CONFLICT of mythic proportions, will the frail, but unstoppable flowers of love yet bloom? Will the Fang-gir-iell be recognized as an IMPOSTER by the now-happy Lindir, or will Lindir still be too enraptured with his new 'do and war hammer to even notice the remarkably sharp cheekbones and those dratted blonde roots (as it's hard to keep one's hair up in the midst of battle preparations. Of course, if you are a Durin, the more disheveled you are, the hawter you look).
Then again, the Fang-gir-iell has unexpectedly received the perfect cover in the form of her twitching eyelid. That would never happen to an ELF. Because elves are perfect.
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 5 2016, 5:50pm)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 6:22pm
Post #91 of 190
(9782 views)
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"I am hungry, my Lord" Elros said wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
"Hungry? For what do you hunger, Elros? Fame? Fortune? Don't tell me! Your King's love?" HRF said as sweetly as you please, wiv a smile as would break yer heart, his regal head turned slightly to one side in anticipation of an answer he likes. Now, Elros is in a tricky position here, 'cos the right answer would have been agreeing to the last thing on HRF's list, but not Elros. I reckon, he's a bit thick.
"It's the diet, my Lord ..." Elros said looking at the floor.
"Ah! The diet." HRF said very quietly. Cue That Smile. That Smile he smiles wiv with mouth but his eyes don't join in. Know what I mean? He's a like a cat playing wiv a mouse.
OMG....poor Elros. Still, reading this heart-wrenching tome, methinks we shall all more fully appreciate why Lindir, himself, broke under centuries of consuming lettuce and the occasional pea.
And finally understand (as IMO the films didn't make it exactly clear to me, although maybe that was the Burglar Bombs) why Legolas was insisted he could no longer stay. He was a desperate for the meals of the Northmen - who, in typical square-jawed MANLY fashion, roast entire slabs of meat on a fire spit and eat with the tips of their knives. (Shocking, Lindir's midsection is already getting a tad soft, to the approval of the Durins.)
http://imgur.com/gallery/oWcunuX
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 5 2016, 10:54pm
Post #93 of 190
(9764 views)
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I have NO pity for someone who gets to look at HRF every day
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 5 2016, 11:21pm
Post #95 of 190
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Indignant foot stamping in dwarf boots is majestic and impressive.
Indignant foot stamping in little silver elf slippers is just really, really cute and adorable...
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 6 2016, 12:34am
Post #96 of 190
(9753 views)
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OMG, laughing, laughing, laughing
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Well! Who would have guessed? Galion CLEARLY has a less than aristocratic back story that he's been keeping dark - a story that needs to told! And so, always happy to oblige, I did a little bit of internet snooping and what do you know! Turns out he wasn't always the dignified, unflappable royal footman that we know today. Oh no, he started out in a VERY different line of work - in the entertainment industry, no less - and there are videos
Sorry Galion...but you really should have disguised your voice if you didn't want your past to catch up with you...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_rVzBt20N0
Tsk tsk, the things those elves get up to when they think no one is watching.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 6 2016, 2:04am
Post #97 of 190
(9751 views)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 6 2016, 2:20am
Post #98 of 190
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It warmed my heart that Thorin could make time for his faithful Hobbit *sobs into a gauzy drapery borrowed from Rivendell*.
And TGIF!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 6 2016, 2:44am
Post #99 of 190
(9746 views)
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Miss-Merriweather
Bree
Feb 6 2016, 2:59am
Post #100 of 190
(9739 views)
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OMG - just keep them coming, everybody!
I am down with a big bad cold right now, and this is considerably improving my prognosis...
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