PART 1
Morning dawned, bright and clear, over the city. Sunlight danced
'Danced'? That sounds like what an Elf would write! Maybe 'filtered down'…but through what? The canopy – which canopy? Or the clouds? No, that won't do. After a moment of thought he presses backspace repeatedly and starts again:
Sunlight fell upon the stone gates, tall and proud as they reflected the wealth of the city. Upon each side of the gates stood a large statue; cut out of the bare rock, finely chiselled down to the last detail by many several generations of Dwarves, as an abundant (?) testament over their power, their knowledge and their ultimate kingdom.
They were wide open, as spring had come thawing away the cold snow of winter and soon, traders would
A voice thunders from below, vibrating through the floor: "Dinner-time!"
He pauses, hands hovering over the keyboard, still thinking about the wording as he distractedly replies. "Yes, coming! One minute, Da!"
come flooding with goods from far and wide to the famous market of Dale. It was going to be a good day, of this the young Dwarf Prince was sure as he opened his dark eyes as he woke, sleep lingering in their cor(backspace backspace backspace) depths.
Yes, that's a better word.
All was calm. None knew of the darkness which already was moving/sweeping (?) closer. (Evolve idea.)
But then, suddenly, the
"Son, the food's getting cold!"
door was roughly opened as a page entered (blustering? Bumbling? WHICH WORD?) the chamber. The servant had always been loud and rather clumsy, not quite a good servant to be honest; and the morning routine was quite annoying to
"Gimli!"
Footsteps, growing louder, echo up the stairs. He twists his head slightly toward the door, yet not taking his eyes off the incomplete sentence before him; "Yes, I'm coming!"
With a frustrated sigh he stares at the screen. The majority is still blank and white. Why is it that every time he has a grand idea he seems unable to put it into words? Now when reading through the text, it seems entirely pointless. It makes no sense. He has the plot, clear in his mind: every event. But this is his third rewrite and every time he comes to that point in the text, everything just halts – like a train wreaking havoc before reaching even the first station.
The Dwarf glances at the he'd notes scribbled during the geography lesson this Friday and the jumbled words stare back at him blankly. Morning, dwarfprince+servant dialogue, it reads, sudden panic, something; it could be roll or doll? … Right, warning bells toll and FIRE (heavily underlined). All in all, very basic.
Almost too basic.
He hasn't even arrived at the dialogue yet!
"GIMLI!"
With a sigh, he closes the lid of the laptop. Maybe later. After the steak. Then he'd better check to see if he's gotten any new messages – most of it is usually spam or short messages from either of his cousins asking if he could meet them for coffee at The Prancing Pony downtown when they know when he is busy writing - err, doing homework. And maybe see shire . gardener if has made any updates – they always rec the best fics.
His Da is not that concerned with his silence. He's mostly busy anyway in his workshop – he has his own small business, making jewellery; all kinds of folk, not merely Dwarves, are interested in that and business goes well. Glóin is used to that his eighteen-year-old son, when not attending lectures at school, spends most of his time by his desk. He's never been that interested in the writing or blogging or whatever he does in itself, although he does wonder if Gimli really spends as much time doing homework as he claims.
"So are you going to meet with your cousins this weekend?" Glóin asks.
They are pretty much the only people his son spends time with. Well, in the physical sense of the word at least. The old Dwarf cannot quite understand this whole thing about being online and has no need to either; his generation doesn't require constant updates, and he's content spending his energy and time in his jewellery shop.
"Well, I guess so," Gimli says distractedly, chewing on a potato.
"You could study with them. Don't you often go to that coffee-shop downtown? You ought to bring your books."
Gimli stares at his father incredulously. He can't for his life image Fíli or Kíli doing anything but sharing gossip and picking fights and pulling pranks – when he shares classes with them, they mostly sleep or doodle in their notebooks alternatively. And winter break isn't over yet!
"Well, yeah," he says at length.
(For the next few days, said books will remain lying burrowed at the bottom of the backpack pushed into the corner of the wardrobe.)
Before leaving the house, he takes five minutes to check his emails; the habitual skimming over spam to see if there's been any recent updates or any alerts doesn't take long. There is usually not that many anyway. He usually takes to following only one story at the time, if it truly has gotten him on edge with anticipation; but mainly he likes reading completed stories. Starting a story with good plot, decent characterising and a surprising twist mid-way only to realize it is marked work in progress is always as frustrating.
(Every time he tries explaining this to Kíli, his cousin would only stare at him in utter befuddlement. Then again, he doesn't understand the point of watching Doctor Who either; instead he spends his time causing trouble with his brother and attending those bloody archery lessons, of all things!)
Comment on Digging in the Rock. rockingmarchwarden left the following comment on Digging in the Rock:
Awesome fic at first but the plot disappeared half-way and … and then wtf?! And the pairing doesn't really make sense to me. Couldn't understand really and WHYYY IS THE ENDING SO FUCKING SAD!?
Posted: SA 2013-01-01 19:22:30
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Well, he's not that surprised at the reaction. For some reason he doesn't understand, in most fandoms he ships the most unusual pairings. Unusual as in not mainstream; however, they make perfectly sense to him. And then when he sometimes admits to liking canon ships that no one else does, people tend to want to throw (cyber) rocks on him – that is, if they notice him. Which they mostly don't. He has a few loyal readers (such as BofurWithAHat) and if he gains some dozen comments on a story he is happy about that; albeit he must admit he does glance slightly jealously at the famous names like FrodoLives101 and their 2350-ish comments.
The Dwarf opens the next message, barely hopeful.
Comment on Digging in the Rock. Strongbow left the following comment on Digging in the Rock:
So happy that I found this story – I wasn't even aware of this pairing before!
You gave it a perfect ending. Bittersweet but sooo good; there was no other way to finish it and my heart really broke when reading, but it was truly astounding. Your ideas are wonderful and you did a great job. I am quite jealous, you know! Do keep on writing these amazing things!
This pairing's new to me and apparently quite rare; I couldn't find anything really featuring them and it's a pity you've not written anything more about them. If taking the time to reply to this comment, do you have tips on good fics with them, please? (Filled with a sudden need.)
Posted: SA 2013-01-02 12:55:01
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On the other hand, unlike FrodoLives101 (who probably has no time for it) he cares for each and every one of his readers and tries to reply to every comment he gets. Even when they are foulmouthed bordering on the extreme or just plainly make no sense. So getting this kind of response makes him a very happy Dwarf, especially since the name is new; it's not just a kind habitual comment, but something honest.
Re: Your comment on Digging in the Rock
Greetings and thank you, Strongbow! I am glad you enjoyed it.
I agree; there's not much of this pairing to be found. It's a pity there are really no mentions of them in any meme to be found. I have prompted some here and there is a fill or two here as well, if you hunger for more.
Would some self-promotion be good or bad? His next story won't even be in the same fandom.
You might enjoy my next story, although it's not in this fandom. Are you a reader of 'There And Back Again?' The live film adaptation was wonderfully made. Anyway, that is the fandom. The tone of my next story will be similar to this, but on a much bigger scope.
Thank you for reading!
/Power_of_Axes
It is 14:03 when he clicks the send button and, simultaneously, his cell-phone vibrates on the desk and blinks, loudly begging for attention. He glances at the screen barely containing a sigh when seeing who is so viciously texting him.
The message silently screams: 'Where are you i'm bored cheer me up'
Gimli picks up the phone and replies: 'There is something called punctuation. Ever heard of it, cousin?'
At 14:06 comes the answer, 'yu're borign and a grammarnazgûl yes indeeeeed', which Gimli knows is purely to drive him mad.
To: underthetrees at_ardamail_._com
From: JustAnotherRanger_84 at_ardamail_._com
SA 2013-01-02 16:23:54
Subject: Downtown?
Hey! Care meeting later today? Will have access to car. El & El promise to come. Eastfarthing Coffeeshop at 5:30 pm? I can pick you up if you'd like.
/A.
When seeing the message, he sighs loudly, exasperated. But his father's adamant. There is no way to persuade him to let him leave the house, not when there's still so much homework and especially not on a Monday of all days: so the blonde Elf clicks reply and types for a minute. The dark wildly furred cat in his lap purrs contently, as if unaware of its owner's frustration.
To: JustAnotherRanger_84_at_ardamail_._com
From: underthetrees at_ardamail_._com
SA 2013-01-02 16:52:01
Subject: Re: Downtown?
I'm sorry, but my father won't let me. I'll probably be stuck at home until I've done all my homework – you know how he is, more stubborn than even a Dwarf! - but Saturday maybe?
Tell the twins I said hello. And don't do anything I wouldn't do! Tell the twins ESPECIALLY that!
Cheers,
Legolas
The urge to open a new tab is strong, but the sooner he finishes that essay, the quicker he may find time to do other funnier things. So stifling the sharp desire he closes the laptop lid and glances at his books.
Aragorn's lucky; his adoptive father may be strict, but nothing like Thranduil. The Elf snorts wryly at the thought. Yes – nothing like Thranduil. Whereas Elrond has shown nothing but support toward all of his children, even more so after the twins revealed their bisexuality (no surprise to anyone), Legolas really can't imagine his father reacting so calmly at a similar revelation. He reacted badly enough when a younger Legolas asked why he couldn't go to a public elementary instead of being home-schooled. Honestly, he'd grown horns.
Thus why he never ever lets his father find out what kind of blog he has, or what he writes. What he reads. He'd go berserk for sure. He's already quite tense with the way he dresses, with the knitted jumpers and the colourful bracelets and, by Valar, the earrings, but at the moment he passes off as a 'phase' that his son will surely grow out of soon. Legolas happily lets him believe so. Soon, soon he'll be of age and then he'll be out of here, but his own apartment and apply for Lórien Art and Writing University (LAW Uni). (His father won't be fooled by the abbreviation for very long.)
The Elf returns to the papers spread over the kitchen table, absently stroking the cat's fur with his right hand as he picks up the pencil with his left. Now, let's see … history. Right. Umbar. Something about corsairs back in the in 3rd Age …
"You didn't answer my calls," is the first thing Kíli says, promptly, when they finally meet up in a corner street of Dale. Frost bites at their cheeks as they hurriedly cross the street; they'd opted for taking the bus instead of walking, because the roads are still so icy and slippery (and Gimli has a suspicion that his cousin would take pleasure in constantly trying to make him trip). A faint ringing bell sounds as they push open the door. Inside, it's warm and cosy, and the air smells of freshly baked pastries. Mm, raspberries.
Gimli is quite reluctantly there, even though the muffins are very good and the coffee is excellent. A notepad is stuffed in his pocket. He's always been traditional like that, liking to sketch out a story with pen and paper, albeit editing is much easier by the computer. But it's perfect when he is struck by plot bunnies, which happens most often at school or other public places when he doesn't have access to anything else.
"You didn't answer any of them!" his cousin goes on irritably. "Today or yesterday."
"I answered your texts," Gimli answers with a grunt. "All 38 of them."
The younger Dwarf doesn't look apologetic the least. "I was bored, okay?"
"Well, go de-bore yourself on someone else next time! I was busy."
"With those stories again?" He sounds fairly aggravated. (But then again he often does.) "It is an, um, Superiorly Natural thingy now?"
He rolls his eyes at his cousin's blatant overdoing. He's not really that stupid. "Supernatural. And to answer your question, no. Anyway," he says quickly, because somehow it feels wrong to spill the plot of his latest idea to his oblivious cousin. It would take away the edge of his plan, and they would only cause him to write yet another crack!fic and he would get totally off track. "Where's your brother? Wasn't he supposed to be here?"
He orders a coffee; black, no sugar. Kíli takes something very a lot of whipped cream and a spoonful of sugar – which he honestly doesn't need, he's hyper enough anyway - and together they take seat in a corner of The Prancing Pony. They manage to find an empty table against all odds, a small table-lamp casting a yellow glow on the square tablecloth.
It's a highly popular place (everyone within a twenty mile radius has heard of the fabulous barista in charge) and lots of people are there now in the afternoon; Men and Dwarves mostly, but there are a couple of Elves there as well – a couple of women with high heels (as if they need them!) and very bright, soft voices. Upon seeing them, Gimli can't hold back a snort. Elves! Even in this Age they keep being so high and mighty. Though these two keep giggling over something – not acting like age-old wiz-heads, rather manic teenage girls - pouring over a magazine or another; something that Gimli probably does not read.
Anyway.
"Fíli will be here in a minute. But honestly, Gimli! You spend all day cooped up on that fiction site and isn't social at all. However are you going to get a boyfriend at this rate?"
Gimli swats him over the head. "I'm not in a hurry for a boyfriend. And I am social, you dim-wit. See, I am even taking time to hang out with you and willing to overlook your most annoying perks over a friendly cup of coffee."
"But I saw it – your notebook. Which means I am going to sit here and talk, and you're going to sit there and write and be unsociable."
Kíli's expression is a testament of utter pain and Gimli swats his head again. Because he can, and his cousin is being ridiculous. Really!
"Untrue! I merely chose not to listen to your ramble once it's gotten uninteresting. There's a difference."
Kíli pouts, which is entirely unbecoming one of Durin's folk. He doesn't brighten until his brother arrives, armed with just ordered pastries that smell sweetly, and despite his initial impatience Gimli launches into conversation with them both. Soon they speak vividly and joke loudly, and his earlier worries are entirely forgotten.
Until he gets home that is.
Re: re: Your comment on Digging in the Rock
Yes, I'm an avid fan of There and Back Again, just as with the rest of the books in the 'verse. It's an amazing series! It will be interesting to see what you'll come up with. Will definitely bookmark this page in wait for a future post!
/Strongbow
It's kind of uplifting. Maybe he could seriously write that story without giving up half-way. Maybe. Perhaps. Someday…
If only the words would come to him and make sense!
A gentle snowfall brushes against the windows. Frost rims the edges of the glass. The sun has already started settling, but he can't see the red disc slip beneath the horizon because the tall fir trees are in the way.
The Mirkwood Residence lies rather remotely outside of town - of course his father also owns a house at the centre too, for his business' sake, but during winter and summer breaks this is where the family of Eryn Lasgalen is vested in along with a small set of servants.
Or at least one half of the family.
The age-old butler has gone with his father on business, and the cleaning main has retired for the day. This leaves Legolas on his own.
At five past six, his cell vibrates and he abandons the books, glad for the distraction. His father should be back any minute now, he thinks absently, glancing at the clock. Unless he's called to some urgent meeting of course, or decides to work overtime as he often does; without warning other than calling to curtly say that he'll be home at nine or later.
The large, empty house is very silent and chilly. Legolas has tried shutting the quietness out with headphones and hold back the cold by wearing two pair of socks, but the floors still are unforgiving even if Elves usually are unbothered by such temperatures. Every lamp in the room is lit, glowing white and bright. He's never been really comfortable with the open plan of this house.
There's … well, there's too much space, which is a very odd complaint coming from an Elf. It's not really the space itself that's bothering him. It's the silence, heavy and dull, and the bareness of the walls. The sofa, white and pristine, looks like it's never been sat in and there are very few paintings, all of them very anonymous. And outside of the grand mansion, even in the high throes of summer, the garden is too … well, too perfectly aligned. Legolas wouldn't have minded if there were more trees, a couple of birches perhaps, and thicker grass and wilder flowers spilling over their beds. But now the snow lays thick outside and the birds have flown south. All is still.
Everything around him looks new and unused – the cleaning personnel certainly make sure of that. There's nothing cosy, nothing homely.
'Too bad you couldn't come,' the text in his hand says. 'Arwen's here.'
Legolas smirks, thinking of his friend's totally obvious infuriation with her; the female Elf is several years older than the Man (not that it's physically noticeable), a healthy 46-year-old contra Aragorn's twenty-two. (And yes, if asked Legolas will admit that it's very annoying that his best Mortal friend is older than himself.) In all honesty he's been waiting for the last two years for either of them to make a move.
'Say hello from me will you? And, you two should get a room. I can FEEL you making eyes at each other all the way from here.'
The reaction is swift. 'LIAR!'
'You're blushing aren't you? Aragorn and Arwen, sitting in a tree'
He hits send before he can finish, collapsing over the table in a sudden insane fit of giggles. He pictures with ease the young Man's expression and squirming. Finally, there's an answer – furiously flashing across the screen. The words appear to have been stabbed into the device with the mightiest force the Man could summon:
'LEGOLAAASS! SHUT UUUP!'
He fumbles somewhat with the phone, shoulders still shaking. 'Ask El & El to take a picture for me OK?'
Back to square one. But third time (well, fourth, to be honest) is the charm. He hopes.
Morning climbed over the hills and settled in the valley below. Its light made the while stone walls of the buildings appear pearly and white. The city, carved into the mountain itself, was already awake, servants scurrying from one corridor to another, busy with work. The sky was clear and it was quite warm for a spring day.
Sunlight fell upon the stone gates, tall and proud as they reflected the wealth of the city. Upon each side of the gates stood a large statue; cut out of the bare rock, finely chiselled down to the last detail by generations of Dwarves, as a prodigious testament over their power, their knowledge and their ultimate kingdom.
They were wide open, as spring had come thawing away the cold snow of winter and soon, traders would come flooding with goods from far and wide to the famous market of Dale.
All was calm. If a storm was coming, none were aware. None knew of the darkness which already was sweeping closer to the vale, step by step. None had heard its warning, chill wind coming from the north. No bells tolled. Not yet.
It was going to be a good day; of this the young Dwarf Prince was sure. He had slept well and felt refreshed. But then, suddenly, the door was roughly opened as a page entered the chamber with a great amount of noise. The servant had always been loud and rather clumsy, not quite a good servant to be honest. "Breakfast, sire!" the lad announced loudly, setting down an overfilled tray on the table. Then he saw the Prince as if for the first time, and exclaimed: "You're dressed!"
"Yes. I sometimes wonder if you were dropped on your head when you were young, or if you simply were born that way," responds the prince sarcastically, ignoring the hurt look on the servant's face.
"I wasn't
Wait. This is getting off track. Off off off track. This is meant to turn dark. Not some silly prelude to a comic relief, for Mahal's sake!
He stares at the freshest line, as if the words would somehow turn on themselves and create proper sentences. But they don't. They remain unmoving.
(Backspace, backspace, backspace.)
…
What he needs, he realizes, is for someone to be there all through this story and give him some feedback. Criticism and encouragement. There's something lacking to this story. It can't quite get started. He has a few drafts stored away of fragmented chapters – he has the middle part quite ready to be honest, the main body has been forged; but it's the bloody start of the thing that has him tied into knots.
Most of the time, Gimli has contented with publishing stories without having someone else beta-reading them first; it'd just be so much trouble, when he has s few readers. But before even coming very far into this story, he knows he needs it to be written and he needs it to be good.
Opening a new tab, he launches into a frantic search for forums and LJ communities. Surely he'd leave a shout-out somewhere and find someone interested; this fandom is more well-known after all, as is the pairing. But then he hesitates. Would there be a beta willing to take on this kind of project? He hasn't gotten far, but common sense tells him that it'll probably be a word monster. It'll be a monthly-long project and he wants the same beta throughout the process for constancy's sake. Would anyone even want to agree beta reading a piece that's not even past the 50% mark?
In the end, he leaves a note, shortly explaining the nature of his story-to-be and his dire need of a beta; and that he just needs someone to generally look over his work, give pointers on the plot and characterizations rather than just grammar. If they could help him fix the first chapter, the rest might just come along after that. Maybe he could get at least one reply.