DISCLAIMER: only Delor, Melor, and Felor (if you've read THE HOBBIT you
know why I made their names rhyme) and Ellorme and Finn are mine.
"Shit," said Delor.
"I am unfamiliar with that term," said Ellorme.
"Shit," the dwarf repeated.
"I don't understand."
"Shit," Delor said again.
"It's a cuss word," Melor explained, as if to a very small child.
"I got that part," she retorted.
"Think of horse plop and you're pretty close."
"Got it."
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
"Shit!"
"Horse plop!"
"Delor," Melor said, and cuffed his cousin under the chin. The dwarf didn't notice.
"Shit," he said, again, calmly.
"What's wrong?"
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
Delor punched at Ellorme, who swerved backwards and mussed his hair. He grumbled loudly and tugged his locks straight. Ellorme hid a smile. If only her kindred knew how vain dwarves were, Delor would never be able to live it down!
"So, what's wrong?"
"That, my little elf-lass—" he ducked absently under a vicious kick from Ellorme "—is what's wrong."
"Oh, shit," said Ellorme.
* * * *
The mob of angry villagers looked like something out of a fairytale ("Don't you dare mention fairytales," Ellorme snarled. "Elves are not fairies, how many times do I have to tell you that?!") and they looked grim. In the midst of them they dragged a small blond boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, who was shorter than Ellorme by a head. The dwarves and elf watched from the cover of follage as the villagers dragged him towards a stake driven into the ground. There were chains on the stake, and bales of hay and wood at the base.
"Not looking good for the blond boy," Melor commented callously.
"Shut up, Melor," Ellorme said calmly. She'd learned that elvish subtleties tended to fall short on a dwarf. Better to be straightforward.
As they tied him to the post and one man stepped forward with a whip, Ellorme shook her head. "I can't," she said sadly. "I can't watch him be whipped and burnt to death. Sorry, boys, but I'm going to help him."
"Elves," growled Felor. "Bunch'a ethical idiots. Always gotta stick their nose into what's not their business."
"Dwarves," Ellorme shot back. "Bunch'a rock heads with the sensitivities of granite and the same amount of intelligence!"
"Round one, ding," said Melor as the man drew back his whip and lashed it out at the boy's bare back. Ellorme cringed as he screamed in pain.
"Do I look regal enough?" she asked a bit anxiously, waiting for the right moment to shock the villagers.
"Not without your hairnet," Felor muttered.
"I heard that dwarf."
"Elf."
"Baby."
"Snob."
Ellorme straightened. "And forward she goes!" she cried.
"Looking like an idiot," Melor muttered. She kicked him as she went buy.
"Halt!" she cried to the villagers.
"Oh, gods, look at her. She looks like something out of a fairytale."
Ellorme heard and broke the mood by swinging around and screaming, "I do not come out of a fairytale!"
The villagers stared at her for a moment as she turned back to them. "I demand you let this boy go!" she shouted.
"Amateur," Delor muttered.
The villagers looked at one another, then back at her. "Changling!" they screamed, and charged her with pitchforks, salt, and St. John's Wort.
"Shit," Delor said mildly as Ellorme stared in shock at the approaching mob. "Uh, hello, Ellorme, anybody home? We might want to get a move on while we're still in one piece!"
"Untie the boy," she ordered, backing away nervously. "I'll lead them away."
"Sure you will," Felor muttered. "Leaving all the hard work for us—umpth!" Ellorme knocked him over as she sprinted past, staying just in site of the angry crowd. The dwarves waited impatiently as the hollering people went by, then trotted over the boy, who was limp against his bonds, his back covered with old scars.
"Hand me my axe, my good cousin," Delor said gravely and sagely to Felor.
"Get it yourself."
"Ditto," said Melor.
"Uncouth barbarians," Delor muttered darkly.
"And proud of it," Ellorme said, popping up so suddenly that all three dwarves jumped a foot.
"What in bloody stinking Hell do you think you're doing?" Delor shouted. "You wanna give me a heart attack?"
"What gave you that idea?" she asked, and grinned ferally.
"We've created a monster," Felor muttered.
"To join your ranks," she replied, and dodged a punch.
With Ellorme's help, the dwarves got the boy off the whipping/burning post and Ellorme shouldered him as the dwarves took some of her packs. Just as they were getting ready to dash for cover, the angry mob suddenly appeared.
"Shit," said Ellorme.
"Run," commented Melor.
"Now," advised Delor.
"CHARGE!" screamed Felor, and ran towards the humans, swiping his axe back and forth. Faced by something that fought back, the people scattered, screaming. A changling they knew how to deal with. A pissed-off dwarf they didn't.
"I knew keeping a hot-headed buffoon around would come in someday."
"It's called thank you, Ellorme."
"Your welcome, glad to have been of service."
"You're an idiot."
"Thank you. From you, that's a compliment."
"Cut it out you two," Delor ordered. Delor had "adopted" Ellorme, and was "protecting her from the cruelty of dwarven society" as long as possible. Which meant he was just as smart-mouthed as the rest of them. "Let's get the lad to safetly. Ellorme, you make the poultice, while the men and I will go out and hunt for tonight's meat."
Ellorme snorted loudly. "Hardly. You hunt as well as you do ballet. What do you think I am, some sort of 'honey do the dishes I'll be home late' sort of gal? Horse plop. You can make the poultice yurself, mister. Oh no. I'm talking like a dwarf. Gods forbid."
"Get out and hunt, then," snarled Melor.
"Make me, oh lovely representation of the cruelties of dwarven society," she retorted, but she took up her bow and quiver and left anyway.
Felor muttered a very un-dwarvish curse-word. "No cursing in elvish," Melor ordered. "Remember what she did to me when I cursed?"
All three dwarves shuddered to remember. Ellorme had tied Melor upside down to a tree branch, gagged and bound the other two, and tickled Melor until he couldn't breathe.
"Cruel," Melor muttered. "Pure cruelty."
* * * *
The boy opened his eyes slowly to find himself looking up at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulder, her face was proud and lovely, her eyes keen, her leaf-like ears accenting her angular features. She was slender and strong, with a bow strapped to her back. He looked at her wearily as she tended a cut on his brow, smoothing on a poultice with a gentle hand. His back was sore, but not stinging, and he could lie comfortably on it. He supposed she'd already tended it.
"I thought you weren't a 'honey do the dishes I'll be back late' kinda lass," said a rough, gravelly voice from somewhere off to his far right.
"I'm not," she answered clearly, in a voice as clear and ringing and wondrous as a bell. "But dwarven healing consists of biting off the offending body-part and replacing it with a piece of your oh-melt-me-please iron."
"Bite me," muttered the voice.
"What's your name?" the beautiful woman asked him. He stared up at her for a moment, uncomprehending.
"F—f—f—"
"Spit it out, kid."
"Shut up, Felor."
"Finn," the boy stammered.
"Finn," the woman repeated with a slight smile, and on her lips it sounded smooth as butter and soothing as camomile tea. "My name is Ellorme. Over there is Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest is on the far right."
"Pay no mind to her, young man," said Dumb. "She's just mad because she lost at chess to me while you were asleep."
"That's because you cheat, dwarf."
"Elf."
"Jerk."
"Snob."
"You called me that before."
"So?"
"So what?"
"So, so what?"
"So, so, so what?"
"So, so, so, so what, so there!"
"So, so, so, so, so what, so, so there!"
"So, so, so, so, so, so what, so, so, so there!"
"Hair-eater."
"Hair-foot."
"Helmet-head."
"Hairless moron."
Ellorme said something in a different language, and Dumb paled. Muttering darkly Dumb retired, sitting with his back to the fire, obviously sulking.
"Look closer, young man!" said Ellorme gleefully. "It's the first and last time that you'll ever see a dwarf sulk—ow goddamit that hurt!"
"And the first time you've ever heard an elf swear," Dumbest added proudly, flexing his toes in his boot.
"Well," Ellorme said, ignoring Dumbest. "Would you mind if we took you along with us?" She looked at Finn. "I don't think you want to go back to the village."
Finn shuddered and shook his head.
"It's decided then!" Ellorme said cheerfully. "Welcome to our humble company."
"Humble? HER? I'm hearing things."
"If you want to eat grass tonight, keep it up, Dumber, just keep it up."
And so the final stage of their quest was before them.
"Shit," said Delor.
"I am unfamiliar with that term," said Ellorme.
"Shit," the dwarf repeated.
"I don't understand."
"Shit," Delor said again.
"It's a cuss word," Melor explained, as if to a very small child.
"I got that part," she retorted.
"Think of horse plop and you're pretty close."
"Got it."
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
"Shit!"
"Horse plop!"
"Delor," Melor said, and cuffed his cousin under the chin. The dwarf didn't notice.
"Shit," he said, again, calmly.
"What's wrong?"
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
"Shit."
"Horse plop."
Delor punched at Ellorme, who swerved backwards and mussed his hair. He grumbled loudly and tugged his locks straight. Ellorme hid a smile. If only her kindred knew how vain dwarves were, Delor would never be able to live it down!
"So, what's wrong?"
"That, my little elf-lass—" he ducked absently under a vicious kick from Ellorme "—is what's wrong."
"Oh, shit," said Ellorme.
* * * *
The mob of angry villagers looked like something out of a fairytale ("Don't you dare mention fairytales," Ellorme snarled. "Elves are not fairies, how many times do I have to tell you that?!") and they looked grim. In the midst of them they dragged a small blond boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, who was shorter than Ellorme by a head. The dwarves and elf watched from the cover of follage as the villagers dragged him towards a stake driven into the ground. There were chains on the stake, and bales of hay and wood at the base.
"Not looking good for the blond boy," Melor commented callously.
"Shut up, Melor," Ellorme said calmly. She'd learned that elvish subtleties tended to fall short on a dwarf. Better to be straightforward.
As they tied him to the post and one man stepped forward with a whip, Ellorme shook her head. "I can't," she said sadly. "I can't watch him be whipped and burnt to death. Sorry, boys, but I'm going to help him."
"Elves," growled Felor. "Bunch'a ethical idiots. Always gotta stick their nose into what's not their business."
"Dwarves," Ellorme shot back. "Bunch'a rock heads with the sensitivities of granite and the same amount of intelligence!"
"Round one, ding," said Melor as the man drew back his whip and lashed it out at the boy's bare back. Ellorme cringed as he screamed in pain.
"Do I look regal enough?" she asked a bit anxiously, waiting for the right moment to shock the villagers.
"Not without your hairnet," Felor muttered.
"I heard that dwarf."
"Elf."
"Baby."
"Snob."
Ellorme straightened. "And forward she goes!" she cried.
"Looking like an idiot," Melor muttered. She kicked him as she went buy.
"Halt!" she cried to the villagers.
"Oh, gods, look at her. She looks like something out of a fairytale."
Ellorme heard and broke the mood by swinging around and screaming, "I do not come out of a fairytale!"
The villagers stared at her for a moment as she turned back to them. "I demand you let this boy go!" she shouted.
"Amateur," Delor muttered.
The villagers looked at one another, then back at her. "Changling!" they screamed, and charged her with pitchforks, salt, and St. John's Wort.
"Shit," Delor said mildly as Ellorme stared in shock at the approaching mob. "Uh, hello, Ellorme, anybody home? We might want to get a move on while we're still in one piece!"
"Untie the boy," she ordered, backing away nervously. "I'll lead them away."
"Sure you will," Felor muttered. "Leaving all the hard work for us—umpth!" Ellorme knocked him over as she sprinted past, staying just in site of the angry crowd. The dwarves waited impatiently as the hollering people went by, then trotted over the boy, who was limp against his bonds, his back covered with old scars.
"Hand me my axe, my good cousin," Delor said gravely and sagely to Felor.
"Get it yourself."
"Ditto," said Melor.
"Uncouth barbarians," Delor muttered darkly.
"And proud of it," Ellorme said, popping up so suddenly that all three dwarves jumped a foot.
"What in bloody stinking Hell do you think you're doing?" Delor shouted. "You wanna give me a heart attack?"
"What gave you that idea?" she asked, and grinned ferally.
"We've created a monster," Felor muttered.
"To join your ranks," she replied, and dodged a punch.
With Ellorme's help, the dwarves got the boy off the whipping/burning post and Ellorme shouldered him as the dwarves took some of her packs. Just as they were getting ready to dash for cover, the angry mob suddenly appeared.
"Shit," said Ellorme.
"Run," commented Melor.
"Now," advised Delor.
"CHARGE!" screamed Felor, and ran towards the humans, swiping his axe back and forth. Faced by something that fought back, the people scattered, screaming. A changling they knew how to deal with. A pissed-off dwarf they didn't.
"I knew keeping a hot-headed buffoon around would come in someday."
"It's called thank you, Ellorme."
"Your welcome, glad to have been of service."
"You're an idiot."
"Thank you. From you, that's a compliment."
"Cut it out you two," Delor ordered. Delor had "adopted" Ellorme, and was "protecting her from the cruelty of dwarven society" as long as possible. Which meant he was just as smart-mouthed as the rest of them. "Let's get the lad to safetly. Ellorme, you make the poultice, while the men and I will go out and hunt for tonight's meat."
Ellorme snorted loudly. "Hardly. You hunt as well as you do ballet. What do you think I am, some sort of 'honey do the dishes I'll be home late' sort of gal? Horse plop. You can make the poultice yurself, mister. Oh no. I'm talking like a dwarf. Gods forbid."
"Get out and hunt, then," snarled Melor.
"Make me, oh lovely representation of the cruelties of dwarven society," she retorted, but she took up her bow and quiver and left anyway.
Felor muttered a very un-dwarvish curse-word. "No cursing in elvish," Melor ordered. "Remember what she did to me when I cursed?"
All three dwarves shuddered to remember. Ellorme had tied Melor upside down to a tree branch, gagged and bound the other two, and tickled Melor until he couldn't breathe.
"Cruel," Melor muttered. "Pure cruelty."
* * * *
The boy opened his eyes slowly to find himself looking up at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulder, her face was proud and lovely, her eyes keen, her leaf-like ears accenting her angular features. She was slender and strong, with a bow strapped to her back. He looked at her wearily as she tended a cut on his brow, smoothing on a poultice with a gentle hand. His back was sore, but not stinging, and he could lie comfortably on it. He supposed she'd already tended it.
"I thought you weren't a 'honey do the dishes I'll be back late' kinda lass," said a rough, gravelly voice from somewhere off to his far right.
"I'm not," she answered clearly, in a voice as clear and ringing and wondrous as a bell. "But dwarven healing consists of biting off the offending body-part and replacing it with a piece of your oh-melt-me-please iron."
"Bite me," muttered the voice.
"What's your name?" the beautiful woman asked him. He stared up at her for a moment, uncomprehending.
"F—f—f—"
"Spit it out, kid."
"Shut up, Felor."
"Finn," the boy stammered.
"Finn," the woman repeated with a slight smile, and on her lips it sounded smooth as butter and soothing as camomile tea. "My name is Ellorme. Over there is Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest is on the far right."
"Pay no mind to her, young man," said Dumb. "She's just mad because she lost at chess to me while you were asleep."
"That's because you cheat, dwarf."
"Elf."
"Jerk."
"Snob."
"You called me that before."
"So?"
"So what?"
"So, so what?"
"So, so, so what?"
"So, so, so, so what, so there!"
"So, so, so, so, so what, so, so there!"
"So, so, so, so, so, so what, so, so, so there!"
"Hair-eater."
"Hair-foot."
"Helmet-head."
"Hairless moron."
Ellorme said something in a different language, and Dumb paled. Muttering darkly Dumb retired, sitting with his back to the fire, obviously sulking.
"Look closer, young man!" said Ellorme gleefully. "It's the first and last time that you'll ever see a dwarf sulk—ow goddamit that hurt!"
"And the first time you've ever heard an elf swear," Dumbest added proudly, flexing his toes in his boot.
"Well," Ellorme said, ignoring Dumbest. "Would you mind if we took you along with us?" She looked at Finn. "I don't think you want to go back to the village."
Finn shuddered and shook his head.
"It's decided then!" Ellorme said cheerfully. "Welcome to our humble company."
"Humble? HER? I'm hearing things."
"If you want to eat grass tonight, keep it up, Dumber, just keep it up."
And so the final stage of their quest was before them.