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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 19 2016, 2:55am
Post #176 of 190
(9202 views)
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It's those Shadow and Flame cocktails. Anyway, it wasn't like Minty wasn't going to notice her favorite stall-cleaner was gone...
*******************************
It was whispered of Thorin II, son of Thrain, son of Thror, that the Mountain King wasn’t MERELY a great warrior and leader, who happened to have particularly good teeth and jaw-dropping hair. After all, as the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-girls quietly gossiped around a late night barge barbecue fire, the ladies had seen pretty good hair in Middle Earth before. Middle Earth was a pretty hairy place – even those cute little hobbits had those curls you just wanted to reach out and fluff!
Granted, Thorin Oakenshield’s chiaroscuro mane WAS like something that MAY have been seen in the Second Age, when living legends strode the land with swords of flame. Unlikely, but possible. Never mind those ocean fire eyes that seemed to have been a gift of Ulmo himself, another sign, some Fang-gir-iells insisted, that marked Thorin as SPECIAL. For why would the Lord of the Waves favor a dwarf, out of all the races, with sea-jewel eyes? And just HAPPENING to find a sword out of legend, and no-one can say how Orcrist came to be in that cave.
Utter silliness, others argued, the flickering light of their cocktails playing over their faces. It was just coincidence that the Lady of the Wood had inexplicably taken a hand in the fate of those of Durin’s line. No, it’s not, the other late-night fire sitters said. The Lady Galadriel is associated with water too. Water is the source of all life. Thorin is Durin the Deathless, Durin reborn.
What? The other Fang-gir-iells laughed. How many Mithril Monsters have you all had? Look, we DO read when we are not mixing Partei-tracks and making Balrog-and-sage burgers (with sweet onions and Swiss cheese). It doesn’t happen that way in the books.
Who cares? Shrugged their companions. We read too. There’s a hundred versions of every classic story, heroes that visit the Land of the Dead, beautiful women that attract the interest of the gods, and such. Things get muddled. Especially when HUMANS are involved. We don’t have memories like dwarves and elves.
OK, so why, pray tell, is Durin the Deathless travelling on a BARGE with assorted livestock…oh.
All the ladies fell silent and stared into the coals, suddenly thoughtful. Because there was, they knew from their books, PRECEDENT for this sort of thing. For instance, gods that got bored with their sparkly white walls and fluffy cloud furniture and came to Earth for a night out on the town, as it were. Disguised as lowly mortals. Something really bad happened to you, if you happened to run into one of them and didn’t have good manners. But if you had good manners, nice things would happen. So the stories said.
Like, for instance, that guy who carved a statue and fell in love with it and prayed really hard and a goddess brought the statue to life. All of them owned ‘wee Thorin figures of one sort or another. (Some of them, as well, secretly owned little Thranduil and Legolas and Bilbo figures too). The idea of praying real hard and having all those Funko POP vinyls and Legos becoming real was pretty appealing. More Thorins could only be a GOOD thing.
And then, of course, there was that god who was featured on so many wine bottles, a god with tumbling lush hair who was accompanied by a horde of maddened women. A god of ECSTASY.
“I have to admit…” one Fang-gir-iell shifted uneasily. “There ARE a lot of stories about reborn gods. It’s that “circle of life” stuff. Another Fang-gir-iell stared at a bottle she had just emptied and frowned. “What, that Thorin is the God of Wine? That’s a bit much, I mean Dionysus or Bacchus or whoever seemed rather more JOLLY in the stories that I read and he certainly didn’t travel around on a barge – tho I suppose he IS pretty well worshipped these days on cruise ships and on Spring break…”
“I dunno,” interjected a Partei-Girl. “Jolly doesn’t mean ANYTHING. Clowns are supposed to be jolly. One of those jolly hamburger mascot clowns popped up waving a coupon when I was surfin’ the ‘Net, and I couldn’t sleep for a week. I was too afraid of seeing this clown at my window at night and just grinning and grinning. Creepiest thing evah…I don’t dare go near a burger place!” A number of the surrounding women shuddered in empathy and took big swigs of their drinks.
“No, ‘course Thorin isn’t the JOLLY God of Wine!” her companion scowled. She was getting a headache from the combination of “Shadow and Flame” cocktails mixed with Burglar Bombs. Plus, bits of singed hair were still falling from her head. She’d been too careless quaffing the drinks down. She hoped that later there was something in those pink-and-white boxes that could help.
“It’s just…you gotta admit. There’s this kind of MAGIC about Thorin. It’s like this huge storm that you can see in the sky, and you can’t stop looking. You just stand there, and want to be part of it, the wind and the rain.”
A Partei-Girl scrunched up her nose in confusion. “What, you mean like the Force? Obi-wan, and all that?”
“Xactly!” the cranky Fang-gir-iell exclaimed.
The Partei-Girls exchanged confused looks. “Well, he can’t be Obi-wan, Thorin doesn’t go around saying stuff like “you are young, grasshopper, but you will learn,” protested one of them. “That’s Yoda, not Obi-wan,” argued another Partei-Girl. “And yes he does say stuff like that, we all heard what Thorin said to Fili. One day he’d be king and he’d understand…”
“Thorin can’t be Yoda, he’s too tall and he’s not green…”
The cranky Fang-gir-iell sighed and reached for another bottle. An image with long dark hair looked back at her from the label…
Meanwhile, the reborn gawd currently under discussion was standing with his stunning dark and gold nephews at the rail of the barge, his darkling tumble of hair wind-danced to a shimmering perfect cloak by the night breezes and blending with the starr’d skies. Thorin Oakenshield brooded. The wooden railing creaked in protest at the powerful hands gripping it.
The three royal dwarves overheard the chattering speculations of the ladies, of course. Elite warriors that they were, familiar with the wild, all three would know to pay attention to noise at night. At the moment, Thorin viewed the chatter like the movement of the barge – soothing and comfortable background noise. It helped him to focus, especially after too many Burglar Bombs.
And there was a tacit truce ongoing between uncle and nephews. Because early on, Fili and Kili had seized on the adoration their uncle inspired, and for a brief period of time had started referring to him as Thorin-oh-my-gawd or Thorin OMG. It just rolls off the tongue, snickered the brothers.
Thorin Oakenshield had, surprisingly, borne up under the ribbing from his nephews with good grace. It had gone on for an entire afternoon, and Thorin merely smiled faintly and shrugged, actually looking sheepish. The brothers howled at their cleverness.
But over a late night pipe, Thorin informed Fili and Kili, that he, the KING, very much appreciated that they had brought the passionate feelings of his subjects to his attention. It was a PRINCELY and NOBLE act. And while of course, he, Thorin, would do nothing that would break Minty’s heart, he could at least assuage the despair of some of the ladies.
Therefore, Thorin said, actually beaming at Fili and Kili, in the morning he would announce that the princes would be married to whichever of their ladies could drink Fili and Kili under the table first. He, the King Under the Mountain, would decree that this would be so. He, the Lord of Silver Fountains, would even perform the nuptial ceremonies.
Fili and Kili were hard driving, hard charging, ale-quaffing dwarves. But they had seen the vigor and seemingly bottomless capacity of their female (well, mostly) followers. As well, and this is true of all females, there was that spine of iron in all of them. And a kind of intense look usually associated with the eyes of stalking cats. The royal princes knew they didn’t stand a chance.
They had argued with their uncle, that it wasn’t fair, pulling the I-am-king-and-what-I-say-goes stuff. They were FAMILY, after all. It’s not that they had an objection to any of their ladies, but what about, y’know, all the angst and courtship and romance? What about the ensuing riots and damages to the countryside for miles around? What about HARMONY aboard the Partei-barge? (Kili didn’t think it was a good time to bring up Tauriel, either, or point out what dealing with an irritated ninja-elf might be like.)
Kings don’t have to worry about being FAIR, responded Thorin wickedly. You know, like gods.
It took Fili and Kili a while to relax around their uncle again. But since, there was an unspoken understanding between the three of them. So while Fili and Kili, like Thorin, also overheard the speculations of the ladies, their faces were kept very carefully blank. Besides, while their uncle may or may not be a sort of god, he was most definitely a KING, and the thing with kings is, when they are unhappy, they tend to SHARE that unhappiness.
And Thorin was unhappy. Because that mousy, lanky Fang-gir-iell had gone missing. Thorin Oakenshield had ALWAYS looked after those following him. And although he was too skilled of a leader to have favorites within the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-girls (considering the recent ruckus the minute his back was turned – although that WAS proper dwarrrowdam behavior), Thorin had bent his own rules for this sad Fang-gir-iell. Had he not gifted the drab girl with extra time, caring for his beloved Minty?
Nor had he, or the princes, ever publicly commented on the strange shuffling, semi-hopping gait of the Fang-gir-iell in her awkwardly fitting boots. Thorin was quite certain that she had never seen himself, or the princes, carefully duck around a corner and stuff leather vambraces in their mouths, to stifle their helpless laughter at the sight. True, the girl seemed to engender a fit of sneezing in Bilbo whenever she was around, but dwarves are used to the powerful eye-watering fumes of forges and metalwork. It wasn’t the Fang-gir-iell’s fault that she could only afford cheap hair products.
And had not his own ladies embraced the scrawny Fang-gir-iell into the sisterhood, presenting her with the “Bra of Wonder” – an ingenious padded design that could slingshot two projectiles simultaneously, or be utilized to carry DOUBLE flasks in the thickly-walled pouches? (Thorin was determined to have the design re-created in oiled leather, so that he could carry his own flasks slung from his belt without fear of denting or breakage. Thorin shuddered, remembering those times he had had to scrounge through Oin’s medicine bag. That certainly wasn’t #Majestic.)
Thorin Oakenshield stared across the silky dark River waters. Someone had bullied one of HIS Fang-gir-iells. She’d been tied to the barge railing with silky ropes. She must have been hurt over that. There was no sign of any intruder, so she must have left the barge because she felt badly, but had been keeping it to herself (like a proper stoic dwarf).
Thorin didn’t LIKE bullies. They made him sad. Sometimes men had tried to bully Thorin in his blacksmithing days. There had been so much sadness in Thorin over that, that he had felt utterly compelled to take his smithing hammer and SHARE his feelings with those men. Thorin had felt so much better, although the men ended up being very sad for many months. Years, in some cases. Thorin had thoughtfully crafted some braces for them, so they could hobble about, at least.
And like all dwarves, Thorin was covetous. What’s mine is mine and STAYS mine. It was a charm of his race. So Thorin was determined to get his Fang-gir-iell back. And when I do, thought the King Under the Mountain, I’m going to ACT like a king and change my own rules. I’ll spend some extra time with this sad Fang-gir-iell. Maybe take her on a picnic with Minty (after my girl’s stall is sparkling clean, of course). Get the ladies to craft some nice gloves to cover up the man-hands, and order a wig or some yak hair from On-Crow shopping.
The Mountain King squared his powerful shoulders. “Right. Fili, Kili, we’re getting our own back. She’s ours. We’ll EXPLAIN dwarf customs to whoever bullied her. Very soon. And I know we’ll miss the laughs, but call a raven. I’m getting that poor girl some proper boots.”
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 19 2016, 3:06am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 19 2016, 3:35am
Post #177 of 190
(9191 views)
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Thank you, thank you for such delicious Fluff <3
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The idea of praying real hard and having all those Funko POP vinyls and Legos becoming real was pretty appealing
I am SO glad I am not the only one who thinks this!   
Middle Earth was a pretty hairy place
You said a mouthful there, sister!
Thorin had bent his own rules for this sad Fang-gir-iell. Had he not gifted the drab girl with extra time, caring for his beloved Minty? True! 
Nor had he, or the princes, ever publicly commented on the strange shuffling, semi-hopping gait of the Fang-gir-iell in her awkwardly fitting boots. Thorin was quite certain that she had never seen himself, or the princes, carefully duck around a corner and stuff leather vambraces in their mouths, to stifle their helpless laughter at the sight. True!
It wasn’t the Fang-gir-iell’s fault that she could only afford cheap hair products.
True! *sob* 
So Thorin was determined to get his Fang-gir-iell back. And when I do, thought the King Under the Mountain, I’m going to ACT like a king and change my own rules. I’ll spend some extra time with this sad Fang-gir-iell. Maybe take her on a picnic with Minty (after my girl’s stall is sparkling clean, of course). Get the ladies to craft some nice gloves to cover up the man-hands, and order a wig or some yak hair from On-Crow shopping.
Awwwww! 
“Right. Fili, Kili, we’re getting our own back. She’s ours. We’ll EXPLAIN dwarf customs to whoever bullied her. Very soon. And I know we’ll miss the laughs, but call a raven. I’m getting that poor girl some proper boots.”
OMG! 
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 19 2016, 6:12pm
Post #178 of 190
(9177 views)
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OMG, Kevin is unfurling new petals with each passing day - a broken-hearted romantic, a collector of fine art, and a hair dresser, all in one wide, lovable package. Tell me quick, where can I sign up for On Crow Dating? LOL I'm sure the Bra of Wonder eye-patch is the final touch to mystify and fascinate potential dates.
And I see a possible family business the future - mom the dressmaker, adding this new Bra of Wonder invention to all of her designs, while Nigel runs the hair salon, and Leggie uses his experience of polishing Minty's hooves every day to offer mani-pedis to the ladies getting their hair braided by Kevin (who can do 3-4 customers at once thanks to his 12 tentacles, as long as they all sit in front of his One Good Eye).
LOL - Ladies of Gondor, you have no idea of the good fortune coming your way!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 19 2016, 6:37pm
Post #179 of 190
(9175 views)
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Thorin never lets us down. Leader. King. Uncle. Protector. Mediator. Pin-up. Perhaps he really IS Durin the Deathless reborn, which means Minty is the living reincarnation of the First Pony, sent by the gods to bring a final dollop of perfection to Middle-earth, long ago in the morning of the world when there was no stain upon the land. Oh my, it's like Valentine's Day every single day!
As for a flask-carrying, oiled leather Bra of Wonder - OMG, how am I EVER going to get that image out of my brain! Hopefully he'll get it finished before they get to the Golden Hall, so he can share the genius with those fun-loving, hard-drinking Riders of Rohan. In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw that design in carved leather last summer at the Renaissance Faire...not to mention the one made from chain mail... 
And how I wish I could have seen Thorin sharing his sadness with those unworthy men, LOL.
As for the burger clown - Eeeeek! I agree, truly the stuff of nightmares!
Loving the Fluff
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 20 2016, 12:16am
Post #180 of 190
(9167 views)
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Perhaps he really IS Durin the Deathless reborn, which means Minty is the living reincarnation of the First Pony, sent by the gods to bring a final dollop of perfection to Middle-earth, long ago in the morning of the world when there was no stain upon the land.
True, the sheer EPICNESS of Thorin Oakenshield, and the BOND between pony and this evening-sky-maned deity, IS a manifestation of something larger than ourselves, a fleeting moment gifted to us by a benevolent cosmos bringing LIGHT and HOPE...like seeing the flash of an aurora borealis...
The Wind and the Flame, a song of Middle Earth...
But then again, these were the free-flowing speculations of the Durin maenads who had had an awful lot of fruit drinks.
In the meantime, since both Legolas and the Durins have considerable skill, I fret over the fate of Kevin, who has suffered so much . Especially since the Fang-gir-iells are so fond of seafood.
And worry that the Durins may do something drastic to retrieve one of their own. Especially since Minty must miss her stall-cleaner so much.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 20 2016, 12:51am
Post #181 of 190
(9160 views)
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I don't know where you find these great pictures but they are always so perfect - especially that first one!
And shame on Minty for laughing at poor Leggie
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 20 2016, 2:50am
Post #182 of 190
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Glad you liked the first one - well, OK, that was me doing a bit of P'shopping - not that Thorin isn't a *spiritual* experience anyway.
But most of the time, the Internet provides. Hopefully NOT clowns tho. I just read where that first clown I posted had been pulled as a mascot for the 'burger company, a while ago. Can't imagine why...it's not like that wasn't one of the freakiest things I'd ever seen. Like a stalker clown. This one reminds me of that giant evil marshmallow man...no wonder the Partei-Girl needed lots of fruit drinks!
Where is Kili when you need him? Probably composing poetry to "Red"....
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 20 2016, 2:50am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 20 2016, 7:31pm
Post #183 of 190
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PS. to my own post...GRATUITOUS Saturday art...
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Because who wants to do chores, anyway?
http://www.deviantart.com/...fe-in-pink-591626178
Thranduil *dreams* of the Princess Adidas, and because he has a symbiotic relationship with the forest, all the dark trees explode into bloom. Such is the POWER of the fey Elven King....
Meanwhile...
Yeah, this is a PAINTING, not a photo OMG. The amazing AYURI-327 (http://www.deviantart.com/...e-painting-590306757)
Here we see a moment of *vulnerability* in Thorin, as he hides in the storage section of the Partei-Barge. Determined to cheer Thorin up over the missing Fang-gir-iell, the Partei-girls had whipped up a new honey-based energy drink called the "Bee-sting". Thorin is despairingly wondering if he actually might be Durin reborn, and if so, will the new concoction send him back to a fluffy white netherworld, or will the sturdy constitution of his race see him through, one last time.
Later Fili and Kili will get another lecture on loyalty to king and family, while Bilbo administers cold towels and headache powders. The royal princes, being experienced scouts, had discovered Thorin hiding meditating and dragged him into the light, insisting that the KING couldn't hurt the feelings of the ladies.
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Miss-Merriweather
Bree
Feb 21 2016, 5:18pm
Post #184 of 190
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... that Dwarves (not all of them, but oh so many) are fated to dwell under large rocky structures because the sheer power of their, um, axe appeal tends to blow the roof off the more conventional types of residential architecture. The pictures in this thread seem to support said theory, so I wonder how the barge manages to stay afloat and intact...?
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 22 2016, 4:47pm
Post #185 of 190
(9065 views)
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... that Dwarves (not all of them, but oh so many) are fated to dwell under large rocky structures because the sheer power of their, um, axe appeal tends to blow the roof off the more conventional types of residential architecture. The pictures in this thread seem to support said theory, so I wonder how the barge manages to stay afloat and intact...?
Of course all are aware of the *shocking* incidences of spontaneous combustion that occurred within the global community over the early PR image releases for the Hobbit films. Indeed, the release of the NZ Hobbit stamps caused a crisis.
Currently, between the Durins "forging fire" so often on the barge, and the eager experimenting of the Partei-Girls, it is truly a puzzle as to why the barge has not been reduced to so many cocktail sticks months ago.
However, it would seem that elite climate scientists actually have studied the weather of Middle Earth:
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/modeling-middle-earths-climate-isnt-magic-its-science/
Computer models show that the Partei-Barge maintains a wholly pleasant "microclimate", as a result of the combination of the stabilizing influences of the vast River waters (as they evaporate around the Barge), and the often-present moderate winds that are localized around the King and his nephews. The overall effect is much like that which can be seen on many tropical islands, which have very nice weather in spite of having intense heat levels.
Scientists are most curious, of course, regarding the so-called "perfect wind" or what has been officially named the brise majestueuse. However, detailed studies have not been able to be carried on the Durins (who seem to be the focal point for the mysterious brise majestueuse) as the Mountain King becomes impatient with the twittering climatologists and glares at them.
This *smoulder* either results in the geeky scientists apologizing profusely in multiple languages, grabbing their pricey equipment, and throwing themselves overboard, or conversely, any number of the scientists (especially females) opt to permanently abandon the "Halls of Academia" and join the Partei Barge. These converts generally conclude that "pushing numbers around with a computer is for sissies" and that "science should be done the old way, up close and personal, you know? " (Lindir has become sort of an ad hoc Barge den mother for new converts, helping the newest Fang-gir-iells with their choices of braids, leather, and studs. Fili continues to tutor in weaponry and tactics.)
Ergo, the Partei Barge seems to actually be PROTECTED by a combination of the River itself and the fascinating phenomenon of the
brise majestueuse. The unfortunate incident with a rare Middle Earth species lends credence to this theory, as the Partei-Girls had not constructed their "mega-still" within the confines of the Barge, but rather within the Mines of Moria. Anyway, it's the Balrog's own fault it ended up as bacon bits, for being nosy.
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Kim
Valinor
Feb 25 2016, 2:11am
Post #186 of 190
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OK, I finally made it through this thread after my vacation
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And all I can say is "Brava!" to all of the contributors. This was quite a feat of collaboration to deliver an epic, sprawling story on a very important topic. I can't even begin to comment on all of the hilarious specifics, so I'll just say kudos to you all!
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 25 2016, 2:25am
Post #187 of 190
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Just felt the need to post this
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because I'm in a VERY bad mood and .. this just makes me feel a bit better until I can get my paws on some chocolate!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 27 2016, 6:22am
Post #188 of 190
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I hope, anyway....
******************************
Oh, he was GLORIOUS. The cream-rose skin, the thick waterfall of sable hair that so many – so VERY many – simply wanted to push their faces in and SNIFF. Entire booklets had been carefully craft’d about the clear sea-fire eyes, his so-called rainbow eyes, those eyes you could fall into, eyes that could be velvet-dark or like blue as a dawn sky. Eyes full of intelligence and heart. And his powerful, graceful, movement, and skill with both blade and axe. The smile that was like stab to the heart, and you’d willingly make a fool of yourself just to see that smile again. The voice that BURNED your skin, that made you think of dark amber honey and glowing coals and smoked your very soul.
Thorin Oakenshield knew all these things about himself. Not that Thorin would have called HIMSELF glorious. Most beings don’t pay much attention to things they inherently are, and Thorin had had an awful lot on his mind, most of his life. So much so, that his current domicile aboard the Partei-Barge was probably the first “time out” he had ever had. In spite of the frequent explosions, damage protests from riverside communities, and irritated Tolkien canonistas, Thorin found himself, for the most part, enjoying his SABBATICAL. The Mountain King had never heard that word before, but the Fang-gir-iells had explained the concept to him. Thorin was LONG overdue for a SABBATICAL, simply because he was GLORIOUS for all the afore-mentioned reasons.
It wasn’t a VACATION (a concept that Thorin also appreciated and was unknown in dwarf culture) as Thorin also, by default, was the King of their little floating community (as well as forever King Under the Mountain) and was still WORKING, in a sense. The Fang-gir-iells promised that when the Mountain King was weary of his “sabbatical” they would take him on a PROPER vacation. Some place nice, they said. Sort of like Erebor with mountains and snow, but there were “hot tubs” that would relax him, make his hair all nice and fluffy, and people brought you steaming mugs piled high with cream to keep the chill off. The Durins could slide down the mountain on these waxed boards. Lots of humans liked doing it. It was FUN, the Partei-girls said.
The Durins lifted their eyebrows at this, and opinioned that having to hike all the way back up a mountain to get to these “hot tubs” didn’t sound like fun to them, it sounded like same old, same old. No, no, said the ladies. There are these little, little stools – you know like the stools on ropes the miners use? Only much nicer and strung along the mountain sides, and you sit and they take you back up the mountain so you can slide down again on the boards.
And, and, the Partei-girls said glassily, the tubs are so warm you don’t need to wear – much, anyway. Thorin said it sounded as though Minty would enjoy it, as long as there was a mug big enough for her drink-with-cream. Oh, there is, there is, hurriedly assured the ladies, who promptly headed to On-Crow shopping to find a special thermal bucket for Minty.
The Durin followers aboard the Partei-Barge weren’t concerned about a hot tub for the pony. With the amount of wealth on the barge, the Fang-gir-iells could BUY a ski lodge if they had to. One of them had already Googled up the names of some carpenters to build a ramp for the pony. Heated, of course.
And if they were very, very careful, they could make sure the ski lodge was in horse country. Plenty of entertainment for Thorin’s pet. And while Minty was making some new friends and playing in the snow, the ladies would introduce the concept of the sauna to the Durins.
So Thorin, in spite of his concern over the newly-missing dowdy Fang-gir-iell, was feeling relatively content, now that the pounding of the headache from the Partei-Girl’s energy drink had subsided. Thorin attributed his recovery to his Hobbit finally pulling Sting out and threatening the Partei-Girls after they arrived at Thorin’s cabin door with something they were holding in blanket-wrapped hands. They said it was an “herbal tonic”. Bilbo had demanded why a healing tonic was shooting sparks and smoking purple.
Bilbo had defended Thorin long enough for Fili and Kili to arrive and gently persuade the Partei-girls that, perhaps, Bilbo needed to spend some quality time with his royal friend and that they should very carefully put the tonic down on the deck. This proved to be an excellent idea as the tonic began to bubble alarmingly, and the few spilled drops ate holes through the boards. Some of the Fang-gir-iells were muttering about an “Alien Predator”. Fili used an axe to push the tonic overboard before it could do any more damage, but the head of the axe was ruined.
Thorin was carefully using a small leather bladder to mist water over the potted “orchid” presented to him by the Elven King at the barbecue. His #Majesty had carefully positioned the plant by an open window, and was humming to the plant. Bilbo watched and didn’t say a word about the Mountain King’s new hobby.
Normally, of course, the plant was likely to have wound up in Minty’s stall as a sort of after-dinner mint. Bilbo had thankfully been caught by Thorin before he hit the floor – as Bilbo had fainted at seeing Thranduil’s gift, that first time, when the little plant winked and smiled at him. Bilbo had to later admit, the plant WAS cute. The Hobbit of course had heard of Ents from his books, but he had never given thought to what a BABY Ent might look like. Thorin had named the little plant Sinî. Sinî smiled adorably at Bilbo and reached tiny arms branches up in bliss at the shower.
Bilbo and Thorin watched as Sinî shook off water drops and began to slowly rock in the pot to the motion of the barge. The Mountain King carefully took a length of heavy pink silk and draped it around the small seedling. The little eyes of the plant sleepily closed. “How do you KNOW the Ent is a female? There are sad songs about the Ents, searching for their lost wives…” asked Bilbo, watching the drowsy face of the plant.
Thorin smiled the kind of gentle “honey, please,” smile that was the center of a hundred memes. “Well, my dear Hobbit, the first reason would be is that it’s unlikely a MALE (for the most part, *cough*) would want to put their ‘wee hands in my hair, the way this one did, the first night I was holding the pot. THAT seemed to make her so happy, all these tiny, tiny golden stars appeared and floated around the cabin.
“Of course, I see quite a lot of stars these days thanks to the Partei-girls”, Thorin grinned as Bilbo stiffened and turned red, fearful of what was going to come next, “Thanks to, as you well know, the ladies’ endless experimenting with healthful fruit recipes.” Bilbo sagged in relief as the flush left his face.
“The second reason,” the Mountain King’s luscious dark brown sugar voice rumbled, “Is that I KNOW those that are MINE, like my own heartbeat.” Thorin wrapped the pink silk a bit more snugly around Sinî’s roots. A few pinpoint golden sparkles drifted lazily to the ceiling.
Bilbo diplomatically didn’t point out that the Mountain King hadn’t bothered to KNOW him very well, for a good long while. That KNOWING alone had taken a rather unpleasant, life-threatening experience, before Thorin saw Bilbo as something besides a stone lodged in his furry boot.
Never mind that feeling warm and fuzzy and accepted and like a man dwarf badass hobbit is all well and good, until you look around and realize you are hundreds of feet in the air on a bare rock tower, that it’s a rather chilly morning, and you desperately need a restroom BEFORE the terrifying climb down. It had taken Bilbo a good long while to stop shaking, although he had to admit he warmed up pretty fast at the end of it. Mainly because Thorin and then Fili and Kili had all piled around him, when they saw him trembling at the end of the long climb off the carrock. Bilbo had drawn the line when Bombur approached though.
(And neither dwarf nor hobbit as yet had picked up the very real oddities about their missing Fang-gir-iell, although Thorin said her new boots were on the way and the Fang-gir-iells were fussing over materials for the new gloves to cover the unfortunate man-hands. Minty, though, absolutely KNEW the lanky Fang-gir-iell’s secret. And Minty missed the lively encounters she had had with her stall cleaner).
Bilbo cleared his throat as Thorin shook out his plant-misting bladder. He nervously twisted his hands together. “Uh, Thorin. Um. Er, I need to speak to you about something…”
Thorin turned to look at his Hobbit. The breeze blew through the cabin porthole and swirled through the dwarf king’s espresso mane, gently resting s few perfect curls against the skin at his neck. The soft light caressed the flushed creamy skin and lit the azure blue eyes like sunlit waves. Sinî’s tiny snores hung in the air. He waited patiently. Thorin figured it was too early for the Partei-girls to have set anything on fire, and besides they like to sleep late, so he didn’t have to start glaring. Yet.
Bilbo took a deep breath. “Uh, this is about loyalty and honor and like that. And, and, FRIENDSHIP, you know, those magical bonds…” Then again, the King of Erebor wasn’t exactly celebrated for his PATIENCE. Dwarves aren’t a race known for mucking about, either. Thorin’s heavy dark brows began to draw together.
“Er, the Fang-gir-iells.” Bilbo shuffled his feet. “They asked me to speak to you. They thought, you know, maybe you wouldn’t get so mad upset. If I EXPLAINED.”
Thorin folded his arms across his chest and was now in full glare mode. The Fang-gir-iells would have been in ecstasy, had they been present. Thorin waited.
“Look, he DID come to the Barbecue…”
“Bilbo,” Thorn said gently, although the glare was still present. “You’re not about to tell me again that hur, hur, Thranduil isn’t such a bad sort and we should have coffee and share hair care tips?”
Bilbo took a DEEP breath. “Well, Thranduil’s NOT such a bad sort. And he does have nice hair, it’s kind of like soft winter wheat or the creamy sands along the seashore or maybe, you know, the finest snow when the sun sparks through the clouds…” Thorin’s glare flared up a few notches. “Look, he DID help in the battle and he DID come to the barbecue and he DID give you Sinî and one-of-the-Fang-gir-iells-has-got-it-bad-for-him-so-can-he-come-for-dinner-or-can-we-go-to-Mirkwood-or-can-she-see-him-and-like-that.” This last came out in a rush.
To Bilbo’s surprise, instead of the expected explosion and broken furniture, Thorin simply seemed utterly baffled. The glare faded into a look of complete bewilderment.
Being a dwarf meant you were well-grounded in your heavy iron boots. There’s a REASON dwarves don’t trust elves. Being around elves meant the world doesn’t make sense. How could it, with these beings who pick at any food put in front of them and that sing-song language of theirs, and yet, had (Thorin grudgingly admitted) those fighting skills? The Fang-gir-iells had told him of another strange country where everyone was like that, too, called “France”, but Thorin didn’t really believe them. He thought the ladies had had too many fruit drinks, even when they called him magnifique roi lion de sable.
Besides, the royal princes were on the barge. The ridiculously appealing golden and dark princes. Thorin felt himself turn pale. “Is she ill? Bespelled?”
Bilbo, feeling less nervous now that the worst was behind him (high above, the all-seeing gods laying around on their soft fluffy cloud furniture laughed themselves sick over THAT idea – oh, Bilbo, they thought, you are SO innocent), firmly shook his head.
“She’s just, just – well, she thinks the Forest King is BEAUTIFUL. Er.”
Thorin tossed his head, trying to clear the confusion. The shimmering waves of darkling silk hair coiled becomingly around his strong noble features, like an ebony sky streaked with falling stars. He hadn’t been so dazed since downing the contents of Galadriel’s flask.
“Then what’s she doing on the Partei-Barge? I mean, there are all those berry pickers that hang around Smirkwood, I mean Mirkwood. Thranduil told me that they’ve built luxury treehouses complete with hammocks and outfitted with these metal and glass tubes they use to watch the stars and for elf-spotting. It’s become something of a game. Thranduil told me when he’s feeling the tiniest bit low, he puts on his most form-fitting robe and takes a walk, making sure the berry-pickers can get a glimpse.”
“But he said he doesn’t dare put his hand up to push his hair back, or make any sudden gestures, because the shrieks are so loud that wildlife is driven off for miles around.”
I wonder if there’s a Khuzdul phrase that speaks to pots calling the kettles black, Bilbo thought grimly. “Are you saying you’re going to exile her? You can’t. Because all the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-girls are FRIENDS. They’re female (well, mostly, probably). THEY TRAVEL IN PACKS. You know, like they all do On-Crow shopping together and cook together and *SQUEE* together. You know how bad everyone felt when some of the Company was left at Laketown.
“Thorin, I know you can’t understand. But know this, if nothing else. IT’S A FEMALE THING. A force majeure. And it has to be handled with the care a dwarf would craft the finest piece of jewelry with.”
The jaw-droppingly handsome Mountain King stared at the Hobbit, reeling at the Sindarin that flowed so easily from the lips of his Hobbit. But Thorin was not called the Darer, the Brave without reason. Even when confronted with something well beyond the ability of even Durin’s Heir to understand. Besides, this WAS Middle Earth. He had a small baby Ent in a pot that smiled and danced. He couldn’t braid his hair without having to step over any number of prostrate bodies afterwards. His pony seemed far too intelligent for a horse, never mind those talking birds. Sanity these days was so far around the bend it was coming back from the other direction.
And Bilbo had summed up the situation with one of the most terrifying phrases known to man. And to dwarves as well. All races, pretty much. “A FEMALE THING.” Faced with a “FEMALE THING”, even for the #Majestic High King of the Dwarves, it would be best to deal with the situation as expeditiously as possible. Like Thorin and his nephews looking very carefully solemn, and a tad regretful, when Dis and Galadriel had sailed away together. Later they had tossed back half a barrel of Shadow and Flame cocktails and cheered when Kili blew up the rest with some flash flame. Because once you dealt with the FEMALE THING you could rest easy, and go back to your peaceful life. You didn’t need to understand it. You just needed to FIX it.
Thorin’s mind raced over the possibilities. Bilbo stared up at his #Majestic friend anxiously. Thorin noticed the angst of the Hobbit and put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Bilbo, this, this, is BAD”, Thorin began softly. “Very bad”.
Bilbo’s brow furrowed. “What, are you telling me you are so GREEDY you can’t spare one or two Fang-gir-iells who has gotten tired of competing with a PONY? Granted, Minty has those completely lovely eyes that look like dark maple syrup and all that hair – I know dwarves are into that kind of thing – and how smart she is…but by the Valar, with all the bathrooms on this barge, I still have to keep using yours or Fili’s or Kili’s! When the ladies aren’t messing with their hair and jewelry, they are mixing up fruit drinks!”
Thorin waved a strong hand #Majestically, cutting through the hobbit’s tirade. “Hush, you’ll wake Sinî. And we can build more bathrooms. With marble and a coffeepot and whatever you like. But you must know, at the Barbecue it seems that a human maiden caught the eye of that arrogant prancing...” Bilbo looked hard at Thorin. “I mean our royal guest,” Thorin amended. “He was asking after some human girl, if we knew her, or where she was from. Things like that.”
“Oh, that’s all,” sighed Bilbo in relief.
Thorin raised a quizzical eyebrow at the Hobbit. “Bilbo, did you not see the condition of the second ballroom in Erebor? That wasn’t dragon damage, you know. That was the end result of a fight between FEMALES. I just wish we had had more of them for the Battle of the Five Armies…”
Bilbo shook his head. “Different circumstances, different strategy. If Thranduil was asking after this woman, then he doesn’t KNOW her. Which means there’s time for this Fang-gir-iell to, to, well, give her best try at things. I mean, Thranduil’s USED TO adulation, so it’s not like there’s any chance of her being humiliated, or anything.”
Bilbo looked up at Thorin, too innocently. “So, can I tell the ladies, that not only are you not angry, but you’ll even try to make sure this Fang-gir-iell is able to be in the presence of the Elven King? Like maybe serve drinks, or something, if there’s an opportunity? Provide a gift card to On Crow shopping? You know, it’s only going to make the rest of them more crazy for you than ever…being so NOBLE to a FRIEND of theirs…”
Thorin glared at the Hobbit, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. “As long as it’s this ONE time. And one time only. We’ve already got a missing lady, and Minty needs her stall-cleaner. This isn’t the kind of NOBILITY dwarves are known for. And I while I never sought songs and grand titles, I will not shame my ancestors by being nam’d Thorin the Wimp. What’s mine is mine and all that. Agreed, Master Baggins?
Bilbo grinned at his friend impudently and went off to VERY carefully construct an explanation for the magnanimity of the Mountain King. Even if it was a lie. Because, even the bachelor Bilbo knew better than to relay the information that Thorin wasn’t the TEENIEST bit put out at not being someone’s utter favorite. It was a FEMALE THING.
In his cabin, Thorin rubbed his forehead distractedly. The truth was, unusually, Thorin was too stunned to be angry. At least for now. Perhaps it was time to have brunch with the Partei-Girls. Their fruit drinks were so refreshing, and made the world seem so much more clear.
It might be a tribute to the great strength of the dwarves, that their Mountain King had so magnificently risen to the occasion, but while Thorin was not vain, this whole experience had left him dazed. It was all so ODD, he couldn’t begin to fathom how he would explain a Fang-gir-iell who, in fact, had a “THING” for Thranduil to his nephews, and not for any of them. It was unheard of. Even ELVES smiled at the Durins and Mahal knew about all that dwarf-elf Fan Fiction.
Perhaps Lindir could shed some light on this ANOMALY. Thorin rubbed his forehead again. Normally, of course, even the most average dwarf would simply dispatch any undesirable competition (this tradition was what had resulted in the destruction of the second ballroom at Erebor), but at the moment, this all just felt…strange.
And then Thorin felt the tiniest tug on his hair.
Sinî had reached out and twined a tender green tendril into one of Thorin’s curls. Her adorable eyes blinked at him and she smiled. And all around Thorin were tiny floating golden stars.
(Oh, my, Thranduil DOES have his own magic, doesn't he? )
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 27 2016, 6:26am)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 29 2016, 12:15pm
Post #189 of 190
(8891 views)
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thank you thank you...another great read to accompany my morning tea.
The Fang-gir-iells had told him of another strange country where everyone was like that, too, called “France”, but Thorin didn’t really believe them. He thought the ladies had had too many fruit drinks, even when they called him magnifique roi lion de sable.
Laughing out loud - of course, it's obvious now that what the Partei Boat really needs is a tempermental French chef whose premier duty each day is to prepare Minty's gourmet golden flowers pony salad
Thranduil told me that they’ve built luxury treehouses complete with hammocks and outfitted with these metal and glass tubes they use to watch the stars and for elf-spotting. It’s become something of a game.
And it's a relief to know that poor Thranny has a few Fang-gir-iells of his own lurking in Smirkwood (disparagingly known as sad little Smirker-lurkers in certain dwarvish quarters)
And, and, the Partei-girls said glassily, the tubs are so warm you don’t need to wear – much, anyway. Thorin said it sounded as though Minty would enjoy it, as long as there was a mug big enough for her drink-with-cream.
And, OF COURSE, every royal pony needs a carefully calibrated hot tub!
 
So great - loved it all!
- now if only poor Kevin can find his lost love...perhaps he can borrow one of those glass and metal tubes...
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Mar 1 2016, 12:36am
Post #190 of 190
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Happy you like it...the urge to FLUFF is COMPULSIVE LOL
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There's no end to what Thorin & co. might be getting up to! Re:
Laughing out loud - of course, it's obvious now that what the Partei Boat really needs is a tempermental French chef whose premier duty each day is to prepare Minty's gourmet golden flowers pony salad
Ooooooh - I can see Lindir discovering French cuisine via the Fang-gir-iells, and becoming THE chef. Of course, seeing as he has so thoroughly embraced his *inner dwarf*, when Lindir throws a tantrum, you really do have to duck. Because Fili gave him all those weapon-throwing lessons.
Lindir wisely, however, opted not to throw a tantrum after presenting the Durins with his first culinary masterpiece.
(It was left to Bilbo to explain to the outraged Durins that Lindir, had not, in fact, had some strange *elvish regression* (after the disturbing events of the morning, Thorin's always-shaky store of patience was running on fumes. The Mountain King didn't appreciate having a "tray of GREEN slime that looked like eyeballs put in front of himself and his Heirs". The Partei-girls, in a move of surprising genius, offered the Durins the slabs of barbecued ribs they had traded a farmer for, in exchange for a barrel of Mithril Monsters. They then used the escargot as fish bait the next day.)
The thing is, tho, possibly it is wise for the Elven King to play hide-and-seek with his berry and mushroom pickers. Because there is no end to to the CONNIVING of the Fang-gir-iells as they plan the vacation. No doubt, of course, that Thorin will enjoy the skiing.
And the hot tub at the *luxury resort*
will be far and away more PLUSH than any the King Under the Mountain has experienced before...
But the *scheming minxes* are using everything they can think of to book Minty's time.
Still, as has been observed, Minty's human has a comparable mane, and so far, her love and loyalty have been unwavering.
PS. Loved your pictures! Of course, Minty's hot tub will be larger, with its own troughs and a masseuse.
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