November 1st 3018

I experienced such a painful hangover yesterday morning that I decided the only cure was more booze, and encouraged the dwarves in their merriment- this morning, that feels like a mistake. Something seems to have died a horrible death in my mouth and I think it may be my tongue- taste is a sense that I could really go bereft of right now.

Drowning looked to be quite a good idea, so I went outside to dunk my head in a water barrel, only to encounter the Hobbits on their way to the dining hall and be bowled along with them. I'm an extremely good warrior and at least double the size of the hobbits, but my manly strength failed in the face of a hideous combination of circumstances- I had just walked from my room to the outside, and had accordingly felt daggers of sunlight pierce my eyes and painfully rape my corneas; my ears were being assaulted by incredibly loud birdsong and the harsh, irritating chatter of the hobbits; I had bruises all down my legs from who-knows-what last night, which the hobbits poked until I went with them. Basically, I was ready to crawl into a dark, dank pit and die in order to attain some kind of sensory deprivation- and then the hobbits began chattering and poking me and saying I should go eat with them.

I must say, I had never before realised the cruelty of hobbits- I had always imagined them as cheerful, happy, friendly little things, but I was clearly wrong in my assumptions. Even an orc would feel pity for me, so horrible was my hangover, and the hobbits just talked more loudly.

After being dragged to the dining hall, I was forced to endure more hobbit talk- they talk of the next meal while they're eating the current one- and the bastards kept pulling me back when I tried to do the manly thing and crawl under the table whimpering.

May the Valar have mercy on us all when these bastards have the Ring, for they clearly won't.

November 2nd 3018

Today, feeling more human than embodiment of a painful hangover, once I went to breakfast I went to sit with the hobbits, since I figured- hey, if there's cruel bastards when I'm in pain, maybe they're just amusingly cutting in their wit when I'm normal. This, as it turns out, was a mistake. An awful, awful mistake.

You know those people that, despite whatever un-Valar-ly hour of the morning they wake up, are always irritatingly chipper, cheerful and loud in their conversation, constantly offering friendly advice about your breakfast selection like it matters what crap you have to eat to get going in the mornings? Those people that are the first to go when the crazy guy at the front desk finally snaps- the hobbits are like that. And there are five of them.

Coming here was clearly a huge mistake, on par with swearing some kind of Unbreakable Oath or pissing off Eru so he sinks your island. I am going to end up killing one of these sweet, evil hobbits- that, or they'll conspire with Wilfred and get me in my sleep.

November 3rd 3018

Successfully avoided the hobbits, but immediately discovered that I then had nothing interesting to do for the rest of the day. Elrond says we're going to be here for practically another month still, and I've run out of things to do already.

November 4th 3018

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Was so bored today, I went down to the Hall of Fire, which is where they do music and stuff in the evenings. There was this one elf (male… I think) who felt the need to relate to us in a monotone the events of the entire First Age in the form of Sindarin poetry. This, however, was not (his?) worst crime. The most awful part of the while thing is that I was sitting next to Erestor who, because the whole damn thing was in Quenya, felt the need to whisper a translation. This meant, naturally, that I had to both stay in the Hall and stay awake, for without a translation the poem would be meaningless and rather dull- mind you, I didn't notice much of a difference between the two in terms of 'How Long Can We Torment Boromir With This Boring Crap.'

November 5th 3018

I have the vague feeling that there should be fireworks today, for some anachronistic reason or another. Oh, well.

I visited some of the workshops today- the smithy, the pottery, the weavers. I hung around the smithy for quite a while, since they were reforging Narsil, that badass blade that got smashed by Sauron and then cut off the Ring- it really gives you a sense of history, you know? Anyway, I kept asking questions until they got annoyed and kicked me out. Father did always say that I could pester the patience from an immortal being.

After that I visited the pottery, which basically consists of a big oven, a bunch of manually-spun table things, a painting workbench and a cadre of snooty elves with artistic temperaments and upturned noses to match- as one can imagine, I left there pretty quick.

And then, of course, the weavers- those were pretty interesting for about three seconds until I realised it was a bunch of sticks with string in between. I tried to liven up the joint by suggesting they make them into slingshots or miniature catapults and they suggested, quite firmly, that I leave.

So yet another productive day at Imladris comes to an end- Sweet Eru, I'm bored.

November 6th 3018

It's kind of depressing that I'm spending all my time here pissing people off, when back home people are fighting and dying to keep people safe.

Father so should have sent Faramir. He'd be blissfully happy and never leave the library.

November 7th 3018

*Sigh*

I'm bored.

Author's Note: At this point, I would like to take a vote- I have two options. One is to continue this diary-style fic with Boromir making snarky remarks and being put upon until his death by Orc. The other is to insert my OC Cassandra from modern Earth and make this into an incredibly sarcastic Sue-satire that will no doubt induce rage in many readers.

The first option is more conventional and remains within canon- the second allows me a greater range for my ideas and the withering hatred for modern-earth-sues that I have developed.

If you want a say, say it now- otherwise it'll be down to a flip of the coin.