Drabbles: Silly Walks in Middle-earth
Dec. 15th, 2009 11:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
written_leavesA/N: The drabbling continues! These are a few of the lighter ones I've come across in my digging through my archives. Some of these I really *can't* explain - I'm not even sure there could be a rational explanation for them, they're just cracky.
Gollums with apologies to Nemo
"Hang on, Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam. He scooped his Master into his arms and ran.
Behind, leaping, crawling and bounding came gollums. A huge flock of gollums, their gangly limbs flailing up and down as they came. Their google-eyed heads all shrieked the same cry:
"Mine mine mine mine mine....!"
Sam raced to a narrow crevasse, with only room for single file. Behind him the gollums gained.
"Mine mine mine mine...!"
Frodo gaped over Sam's shoulder as they squeezed through it. There was a variety of thumping, thudding and whump sounds as the pursuit collided with the cliff face.
"Mine...!"
-
True Love
Watching the sunset from their chambers, Aragorn and Arwen were enchanted by the beautiful colors displayed before them.
"Oh, the wonderous beauty of the twilight hours," Aragorn mused, "the beauty I ever see in you, My Love. As orange as your lips, as yellow as your skin, all streaked with purple like the veins of your legs."
"Losing my makeup case off the balcony could have been a tragedy I cannot imagine. I am thankful that you still appreciate my true appearance," Arwen replied hugging Aragorn, "Truly twilight is as lovely as your own false teeth and toupee."
-
A Keg Dawn Rises
The light of dawn was golden upon them as the last of their horsemen drew up to the ridge. Golden as a good light ale, thought Theoden, or perhaps mead. What would this day hold?
Below them the host of Mordor spread out in a vast blanket upon the Pelennor. After a long moment had passed the Rohirrim realized they were already drunken into a stupor, stuck to their blankets with the sticky remains of s'mores. Were they too late? Would there be no refreshments for the people of Rohan?
"Ride! Ride now!" cried Theoden. "KEGS!"
"Keeeeggggggs!" they roared.
"Keeeegggggggs....!"
-
Gondor Calls for Ade!
Upon the battlements and in the streets, Gondorian soldiers lay exhausted. Mordor's host had been unrelenting and the emergency stockpiles of marshmallows and graham-crackers were running dangerously low.
They had tried to slake the thirst of Mordor with great vats of hot cocoa, tossed over the walls, raining down upon the open, slavering mouths of the enemy. When the cocoa ran out, it was cheap wine. It was to no avail - unless Rohan brought lemonade, they would be forced to broach their kegs of fine October ale and waste it upon the massive undulating beach party just outside their gates.
-
Surfin' the Pelennor
Suddenly the King cried to Snowmane and the white horse sprang away. His bright tankard was in his hand, golden as the sun.
The Riders followed him, breaking upon the host of Mordor like a wave of foaming ale tipped by the hand of Fate when it went groping for the pretzel dish and missed.
The orcs wailed and fled, tripped over their beach-blankets and poked each other with their marshmallow sticks in terror. All the host of Rohan burst into song and they sang as they rode:
Catch a wave and you're sitting on top of the world...
-
Cirdan's Beard
"Ouch!" cried the Elf and not for the first time that day. First his hammar slipped, banging his thumb, then that beam knocked him on the head and now his beard had gone and caught in the decorative feather-like edging he had been chiseling since lunchtime.
He grumbled as he untangled the silvery, silky chin-hairs and rewound them into the facial bun he wore when working. Why oh why had he ever consented to trying out that 'sun-lotion' those dwarves had sold him all those years ago? And why oh why had he put it on his face, of all places?
-
The Last Ship Out
Cirdan stood upon the crest of the hill and looked down upon his well-loved Bay. Below him the last ship waited by the peaceful dock. He raised his bullhorn to his mouth and called inward to the lands of Middle-earth.
"LAAAAAAAASST SHIP! LAST SHIP! COME N GET IT!"
"Aw, already? But we just got here!" came a complaint from the trees nearby.
"But we were just starting a new song!" grumbled another voice as the trees came alive with Elven host.
"It just isn't faaaair," whined an Elf, "Why are you not making any more ships? You said you'd wait for us!"
II.
Grumbling and whining, Elves began to file down the hillside, then began to run as they caught sight of the ship. It's formerly gleaming, empty decks were already beginning to be thronged with Elves. More Elves descended by the steps and pathways at the ends of the Bay, others made their way down ropes cast over the steeper parts of the cliffs. The paths began to be alive with Elves, pushing, shoving and complaining.
Cirdan gave a resigned sigh as the ship began to flounder under its load, sinking until its deckrails were nearly to the level of the sea.
III.
Elves were still trying to get aboard the ship, clinging to the mast and ropes. Fistfights were breaking out. Cirdan watched as one of those aboard cut the ropes with a sword and the ship lumbered out to sea, leaving a shrieking, protesting mass on the docks. Some of them actually leapt into the water, trying to swim after.
Cirdan's clear eyes watched, knowing what would happen. Sure enough, the remaining crowd turned to him, begging and beseeching him. He knew they would continue until he built another ship. And he would. Again. Prophetic gifts and procrastinators just didn't mix, he thought.
-
Spider-spit - A poke at the Leggy-swooners, an attraction I never did understand...
Vainly he twisted; not another one! The horrible, creaking voices were speaking to one another. The web was tight, his head was clouded. What was he to do?
He felt the bite, and winced, though the idea of it that was worse than the bite itself. It was only a taste, a sampling of their catch before dinner like a child sneaking bread-dough before it's cooked.
And, as the aforementioned child, the spider recoiled, spitting from the unexpected taste.
"Blech! Eyagh! What is it? It's juices make me want to swoon!"
"Squeee! Don't bite it! Fangirl drool!"
Ah, thought the Elf. Marinating among admirers may save me yet...
-
Squibs
There was a generous distribution of squibs, crackers, backarappers, sparklers, torches, dwarf-candles, elf-fountains, goblin-barkers and thunderclaps.
They were all superb, or so Merry reported in an undertone to Frodo after he and Pippin were finally tracked down and locked up inside empty ale-kegs for the remainder of the night.
It didn't quite end the mischief, as (realizing Gandalf was on to them) they had hidden a great number of rockets in plain sight, swapping them out for birthday candles on Bilbo and Frodo's cake, the candles themselves having then been eaten as a 'surprisingly chewy candy' for the Proudfoot clan.
Gollums with apologies to Nemo
"Hang on, Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam. He scooped his Master into his arms and ran.
Behind, leaping, crawling and bounding came gollums. A huge flock of gollums, their gangly limbs flailing up and down as they came. Their google-eyed heads all shrieked the same cry:
"Mine mine mine mine mine....!"
Sam raced to a narrow crevasse, with only room for single file. Behind him the gollums gained.
"Mine mine mine mine...!"
Frodo gaped over Sam's shoulder as they squeezed through it. There was a variety of thumping, thudding and whump sounds as the pursuit collided with the cliff face.
"Mine...!"
-
True Love
Watching the sunset from their chambers, Aragorn and Arwen were enchanted by the beautiful colors displayed before them.
"Oh, the wonderous beauty of the twilight hours," Aragorn mused, "the beauty I ever see in you, My Love. As orange as your lips, as yellow as your skin, all streaked with purple like the veins of your legs."
"Losing my makeup case off the balcony could have been a tragedy I cannot imagine. I am thankful that you still appreciate my true appearance," Arwen replied hugging Aragorn, "Truly twilight is as lovely as your own false teeth and toupee."
-
A Keg Dawn Rises
The light of dawn was golden upon them as the last of their horsemen drew up to the ridge. Golden as a good light ale, thought Theoden, or perhaps mead. What would this day hold?
Below them the host of Mordor spread out in a vast blanket upon the Pelennor. After a long moment had passed the Rohirrim realized they were already drunken into a stupor, stuck to their blankets with the sticky remains of s'mores. Were they too late? Would there be no refreshments for the people of Rohan?
"Ride! Ride now!" cried Theoden. "KEGS!"
"Keeeeggggggs!" they roared.
"Keeeegggggggs....!"
-
Gondor Calls for Ade!
Upon the battlements and in the streets, Gondorian soldiers lay exhausted. Mordor's host had been unrelenting and the emergency stockpiles of marshmallows and graham-crackers were running dangerously low.
They had tried to slake the thirst of Mordor with great vats of hot cocoa, tossed over the walls, raining down upon the open, slavering mouths of the enemy. When the cocoa ran out, it was cheap wine. It was to no avail - unless Rohan brought lemonade, they would be forced to broach their kegs of fine October ale and waste it upon the massive undulating beach party just outside their gates.
-
Surfin' the Pelennor
Suddenly the King cried to Snowmane and the white horse sprang away. His bright tankard was in his hand, golden as the sun.
The Riders followed him, breaking upon the host of Mordor like a wave of foaming ale tipped by the hand of Fate when it went groping for the pretzel dish and missed.
The orcs wailed and fled, tripped over their beach-blankets and poked each other with their marshmallow sticks in terror. All the host of Rohan burst into song and they sang as they rode:
Catch a wave and you're sitting on top of the world...
-
Cirdan's Beard
"Ouch!" cried the Elf and not for the first time that day. First his hammar slipped, banging his thumb, then that beam knocked him on the head and now his beard had gone and caught in the decorative feather-like edging he had been chiseling since lunchtime.
He grumbled as he untangled the silvery, silky chin-hairs and rewound them into the facial bun he wore when working. Why oh why had he ever consented to trying out that 'sun-lotion' those dwarves had sold him all those years ago? And why oh why had he put it on his face, of all places?
-
The Last Ship Out
Cirdan stood upon the crest of the hill and looked down upon his well-loved Bay. Below him the last ship waited by the peaceful dock. He raised his bullhorn to his mouth and called inward to the lands of Middle-earth.
"LAAAAAAAASST SHIP! LAST SHIP! COME N GET IT!"
"Aw, already? But we just got here!" came a complaint from the trees nearby.
"But we were just starting a new song!" grumbled another voice as the trees came alive with Elven host.
"It just isn't faaaair," whined an Elf, "Why are you not making any more ships? You said you'd wait for us!"
II.
Grumbling and whining, Elves began to file down the hillside, then began to run as they caught sight of the ship. It's formerly gleaming, empty decks were already beginning to be thronged with Elves. More Elves descended by the steps and pathways at the ends of the Bay, others made their way down ropes cast over the steeper parts of the cliffs. The paths began to be alive with Elves, pushing, shoving and complaining.
Cirdan gave a resigned sigh as the ship began to flounder under its load, sinking until its deckrails were nearly to the level of the sea.
III.
Elves were still trying to get aboard the ship, clinging to the mast and ropes. Fistfights were breaking out. Cirdan watched as one of those aboard cut the ropes with a sword and the ship lumbered out to sea, leaving a shrieking, protesting mass on the docks. Some of them actually leapt into the water, trying to swim after.
Cirdan's clear eyes watched, knowing what would happen. Sure enough, the remaining crowd turned to him, begging and beseeching him. He knew they would continue until he built another ship. And he would. Again. Prophetic gifts and procrastinators just didn't mix, he thought.
-
Spider-spit - A poke at the Leggy-swooners, an attraction I never did understand...
Vainly he twisted; not another one! The horrible, creaking voices were speaking to one another. The web was tight, his head was clouded. What was he to do?
He felt the bite, and winced, though the idea of it that was worse than the bite itself. It was only a taste, a sampling of their catch before dinner like a child sneaking bread-dough before it's cooked.
And, as the aforementioned child, the spider recoiled, spitting from the unexpected taste.
"Blech! Eyagh! What is it? It's juices make me want to swoon!"
"Squeee! Don't bite it! Fangirl drool!"
Ah, thought the Elf. Marinating among admirers may save me yet...
-
Squibs
There was a generous distribution of squibs, crackers, backarappers, sparklers, torches, dwarf-candles, elf-fountains, goblin-barkers and thunderclaps.
They were all superb, or so Merry reported in an undertone to Frodo after he and Pippin were finally tracked down and locked up inside empty ale-kegs for the remainder of the night.
It didn't quite end the mischief, as (realizing Gandalf was on to them) they had hidden a great number of rockets in plain sight, swapping them out for birthday candles on Bilbo and Frodo's cake, the candles themselves having then been eaten as a 'surprisingly chewy candy' for the Proudfoot clan.