Chaos in Middle Earth
By Risty and Silver
Disclaimer: You already know
Summary: Hell, ask Silver.
*****
Risty was reading 'I capture the Castle' when she heard a snickering behind the door. Rhian was reading the Australian Bush Poem that she and Risty were to perform. In yet another weird position, Risty looked up and caught Merry and Pippin just sneaking out.
"Okay, guys, jokes up. Merry Pippin. Get in here now."
Silver looked up as Merry and Pippin, looking slightly guilty, came into sight and raised an eyebrow and put a finger to her lips, motioning to Jack. The two hobbits nodded.
"And, please tell, why were you spying on us?" Rhian asked, looking up from the poem book.
"We're curious." Said Merry, as if that explained everything. "We wanted to see what you were doing."
"Great." Said Risty, getting into the position with her ankles behind her neck. She closed her book, put her hands on the floor and lifted herself, using her hands and using herself as a weight. "And what were you going to do with that bucket of water you've got there?"
"Uhh, nothing."
"Sure."
"Guys, Shhh. You'll wake Jack." Said Silver, grinning at Risty. Risty grinned from her position and got out of it. Merry looked disgusted. Pippin, amused. Rhian snuck up behind them and slipped two rubber spiders in heir pockets.
"How do you do that?" asked Merry, a little green.
"Practice, short-stuff. Man. . . I wish Bindi and Buster were here . . . I miss my dogs so much." No sooner had Risty said that, her two border collies flashed into view and bounded over to her. Risty laughed and got knocked down.
"You just had to open your big mouth, didn't you?" Rhian giggled.
"Looks like we have a small army of dogs, now." Said Silver as Bindi and Buster began to meet 'n' greet with Shadow.
"Remember, Bindi and Buster are certified Sniffer dogs. Bindi, find!"
Bindi jumped to the order and sniffed all around, before sitting in front of Merry, pawing at his pocket.
"Okay, Merry, what have you got in your pocket?" Merry blushed and pulled out the rubber spider. He looked at it and shrieked, before high-tailing it out of the room. Risty laughed and called Bindi to her. "Good dog."
****
Later, at the dinner, Billy, Silver, Col, Charlie, Rhian and Risty sat side by side at a big table. At the head sat Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir. An elf maid had offered to look after Jack, to which Silver obliged.
Elrond got up and called a silence.
"Six people have somehow appeared in Middle Earth. While they are here, they agreed to do things for this dinner. May I please announce Master Billy, Lady Silver, Master Col, Master Charlie and Lady Risty."
There was polite applause and Risty and Rhian got up first. They curtsied to Celeborn and Galadriel. In the black leotards, which they had akubras and cotton flannelette shirts over the top, Their hair was down. Risty pressed a button on the tiny tape deck that she kept in her bag and country sounds like kookaburras and wind in the trees began, but were soon drowned out by the dull roar of what seemed to be a bush fire. She had explained the contraption to Elrond. The cousins began the poem.
"The bush fire. By Henry Lawson." Rhian said. Risty began. Rhian was to do the different peoples voices.
"Ah, better the thud of the deadly gun, and the crash of the bursting shell,
Than the terrible silence where drought is fought out there in the western hell;
And better the rattle of rifles near, or thunder on deck at sea,
Than the sound - most hellish of all to hear - of a fire where it should not be.
On the runs to the to the west of the Dingo Scrubs there was drought, and ruin and death,
And the sandstorm came from the dread north-east with the blast of a furnace breath;
Till at last one day, at the fierce sunrise, a boundary-rider woke,
And saw, in the place of the distant haze, a curtain of light-blue smoke.
There is saddling-up by the cockey's hut, and out in the station yard,
And away to the north, northeast, northwest, the Bushmen are riding hard.
The pickets are out and many a scout, and many a mulga wire,
While Bill and Jim, their faces grim, are riding to meet the fire.
It roars for days in the hopeless scrubs, and across, where the ground seems bare,
With a cackle and hiss, like the hissing of snakes, the fire is travelling there;
Till at last, exhausted by sleeplessness, and the terrible toil and heat, The squatter is crying,"
"My God! The wool!" Rhian said in a panicked voice.
"And the farmer,"
"My God! The wheat!"
"But there comes a drunkard (who reels as he rides), with the news from the roadside pub:"
"Pat Murphy - the cockey - cut off by the fire! - Way back in the Dingo Scrub!
Let the wheat and woolshed go to -" Rhian cut off.
"Well, they do as each great heart bids;
They are riding a race for the Dingo Scrub - for Pat and his wife and kids.
And who is leading the race with death? An ill matched three, you'll allow:
Flash Jim the breaker and Boozing Bill (who is riding steadily now),
And Constable Dunn, of the Mounted Police, is riding between the two
(He wants Flash Jim, but the job can wait till they get the Murphys through).
As they strike the track through the blazing scrub, the trooper is heard to shout:"
"We'll take them on to the Two-Mile tank, if we cannot bring them out!" Rhian cried.
"A half mile more, and the rest rein back, retreating, half choked, half blind;
And the three are gone from the sight of men, and the bush fire roars behind.
The Bushman wiped the tears of smoke, and like Bushmen wept and swore;"
"Poor Bill will be wanting his drink tonight as never he did before.
And Dunn was the best in the whole damned force!" Rhian said.
"Says a client of Dunn's, with pride;
I reckon he'll serve his summons on Jim - when they get to the other side.
It is daylight again, and the fire is past, and the black scrub silent and grim,
Except for the blaze of an old dead tree, or the crash of a falling limb;
And the Bushmen are riding again on the run, with hearts and eyes that fill,
To look for the bodies of Constable Dunn, Flash Jim and Boozing Bill.
They are found in the mud of the Two-Mile Tank, where a fiend might scarce survive,
But the Bushmen gather from words they hear that the bodies are much alive.
There is Swearing Pat, with his grey beard singed, and his language of lurid hue,
And his tough old wife, and his half-baked kids, and the three who dragged them through.
Old Pat is deploring his burnt-out home, and his wife, the climate warm;
And Jim the loss of his favourite horse, and Dunn his uniform;
And Boozing Bill, with a raging thirst, is cursing the Dingo Scrub -
He'll only ask the loan of a flask and a lift to the nearest pub.
Flash Jim the Breaker is lying low - blue-paper is after him,
And Dunn, the trooper, is riding his rounds with a blind eye out for Jim,
And Boozing Bill is fighting D.T's. in the township of Sudden Jerk -
When they're wanted again in the Dingo Scrubs, they'll be there to do the work."
Rhian and Risty bowed as the applause was polite but tremendous. They began to smile, then grinned, curtsied and sat back down.
"Now," Risty said, taking a sip of water. "Charlie and Col will recite the old favourite from our country. 'The Man From Snowy River'." She bowed again and her cousins got up to a round of applause.
"'The Man From Snowy River." Charlie said.
"By A.B. 'Banjo' Patterson." Col added.
"It's more of a story." Charlie warned and the two launched into the poem.
"There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses -- he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight." Charlie said.
"There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up -
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains." Col continued. The brothers kept swapping over and over.
"And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony -- three parts thoroughbred at least -
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry -- just the sort that won't say die -
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head." Charlie said, tipping his hat at Risty. It was obvious he had feelings for her. She giggled.
"But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop -- lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful -- only Clancy stood his friend -
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred."" Col said, not noticing Charlie's obvious attempts to get their cousins attention.
""He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."" Charlie said.
"So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."" Col continued.
"So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew." Charlie said.
"Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side."" Col carried on.
"When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear." Charlie said.
"He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent." Col said.
"He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels." Charlie said.
"And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur." Col said.
"And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride." They finished the poem together. They took a bow to applause. Col sat down in between Rhian and Silver and Charlie sat next to Risty.
Billy got up next . . .
A/N: Yes, yes, yes. Me and Charlie are going out.
By Risty and Silver
Disclaimer: You already know
Summary: Hell, ask Silver.
*****
Risty was reading 'I capture the Castle' when she heard a snickering behind the door. Rhian was reading the Australian Bush Poem that she and Risty were to perform. In yet another weird position, Risty looked up and caught Merry and Pippin just sneaking out.
"Okay, guys, jokes up. Merry Pippin. Get in here now."
Silver looked up as Merry and Pippin, looking slightly guilty, came into sight and raised an eyebrow and put a finger to her lips, motioning to Jack. The two hobbits nodded.
"And, please tell, why were you spying on us?" Rhian asked, looking up from the poem book.
"We're curious." Said Merry, as if that explained everything. "We wanted to see what you were doing."
"Great." Said Risty, getting into the position with her ankles behind her neck. She closed her book, put her hands on the floor and lifted herself, using her hands and using herself as a weight. "And what were you going to do with that bucket of water you've got there?"
"Uhh, nothing."
"Sure."
"Guys, Shhh. You'll wake Jack." Said Silver, grinning at Risty. Risty grinned from her position and got out of it. Merry looked disgusted. Pippin, amused. Rhian snuck up behind them and slipped two rubber spiders in heir pockets.
"How do you do that?" asked Merry, a little green.
"Practice, short-stuff. Man. . . I wish Bindi and Buster were here . . . I miss my dogs so much." No sooner had Risty said that, her two border collies flashed into view and bounded over to her. Risty laughed and got knocked down.
"You just had to open your big mouth, didn't you?" Rhian giggled.
"Looks like we have a small army of dogs, now." Said Silver as Bindi and Buster began to meet 'n' greet with Shadow.
"Remember, Bindi and Buster are certified Sniffer dogs. Bindi, find!"
Bindi jumped to the order and sniffed all around, before sitting in front of Merry, pawing at his pocket.
"Okay, Merry, what have you got in your pocket?" Merry blushed and pulled out the rubber spider. He looked at it and shrieked, before high-tailing it out of the room. Risty laughed and called Bindi to her. "Good dog."
****
Later, at the dinner, Billy, Silver, Col, Charlie, Rhian and Risty sat side by side at a big table. At the head sat Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir. An elf maid had offered to look after Jack, to which Silver obliged.
Elrond got up and called a silence.
"Six people have somehow appeared in Middle Earth. While they are here, they agreed to do things for this dinner. May I please announce Master Billy, Lady Silver, Master Col, Master Charlie and Lady Risty."
There was polite applause and Risty and Rhian got up first. They curtsied to Celeborn and Galadriel. In the black leotards, which they had akubras and cotton flannelette shirts over the top, Their hair was down. Risty pressed a button on the tiny tape deck that she kept in her bag and country sounds like kookaburras and wind in the trees began, but were soon drowned out by the dull roar of what seemed to be a bush fire. She had explained the contraption to Elrond. The cousins began the poem.
"The bush fire. By Henry Lawson." Rhian said. Risty began. Rhian was to do the different peoples voices.
"Ah, better the thud of the deadly gun, and the crash of the bursting shell,
Than the terrible silence where drought is fought out there in the western hell;
And better the rattle of rifles near, or thunder on deck at sea,
Than the sound - most hellish of all to hear - of a fire where it should not be.
On the runs to the to the west of the Dingo Scrubs there was drought, and ruin and death,
And the sandstorm came from the dread north-east with the blast of a furnace breath;
Till at last one day, at the fierce sunrise, a boundary-rider woke,
And saw, in the place of the distant haze, a curtain of light-blue smoke.
There is saddling-up by the cockey's hut, and out in the station yard,
And away to the north, northeast, northwest, the Bushmen are riding hard.
The pickets are out and many a scout, and many a mulga wire,
While Bill and Jim, their faces grim, are riding to meet the fire.
It roars for days in the hopeless scrubs, and across, where the ground seems bare,
With a cackle and hiss, like the hissing of snakes, the fire is travelling there;
Till at last, exhausted by sleeplessness, and the terrible toil and heat, The squatter is crying,"
"My God! The wool!" Rhian said in a panicked voice.
"And the farmer,"
"My God! The wheat!"
"But there comes a drunkard (who reels as he rides), with the news from the roadside pub:"
"Pat Murphy - the cockey - cut off by the fire! - Way back in the Dingo Scrub!
Let the wheat and woolshed go to -" Rhian cut off.
"Well, they do as each great heart bids;
They are riding a race for the Dingo Scrub - for Pat and his wife and kids.
And who is leading the race with death? An ill matched three, you'll allow:
Flash Jim the breaker and Boozing Bill (who is riding steadily now),
And Constable Dunn, of the Mounted Police, is riding between the two
(He wants Flash Jim, but the job can wait till they get the Murphys through).
As they strike the track through the blazing scrub, the trooper is heard to shout:"
"We'll take them on to the Two-Mile tank, if we cannot bring them out!" Rhian cried.
"A half mile more, and the rest rein back, retreating, half choked, half blind;
And the three are gone from the sight of men, and the bush fire roars behind.
The Bushman wiped the tears of smoke, and like Bushmen wept and swore;"
"Poor Bill will be wanting his drink tonight as never he did before.
And Dunn was the best in the whole damned force!" Rhian said.
"Says a client of Dunn's, with pride;
I reckon he'll serve his summons on Jim - when they get to the other side.
It is daylight again, and the fire is past, and the black scrub silent and grim,
Except for the blaze of an old dead tree, or the crash of a falling limb;
And the Bushmen are riding again on the run, with hearts and eyes that fill,
To look for the bodies of Constable Dunn, Flash Jim and Boozing Bill.
They are found in the mud of the Two-Mile Tank, where a fiend might scarce survive,
But the Bushmen gather from words they hear that the bodies are much alive.
There is Swearing Pat, with his grey beard singed, and his language of lurid hue,
And his tough old wife, and his half-baked kids, and the three who dragged them through.
Old Pat is deploring his burnt-out home, and his wife, the climate warm;
And Jim the loss of his favourite horse, and Dunn his uniform;
And Boozing Bill, with a raging thirst, is cursing the Dingo Scrub -
He'll only ask the loan of a flask and a lift to the nearest pub.
Flash Jim the Breaker is lying low - blue-paper is after him,
And Dunn, the trooper, is riding his rounds with a blind eye out for Jim,
And Boozing Bill is fighting D.T's. in the township of Sudden Jerk -
When they're wanted again in the Dingo Scrubs, they'll be there to do the work."
Rhian and Risty bowed as the applause was polite but tremendous. They began to smile, then grinned, curtsied and sat back down.
"Now," Risty said, taking a sip of water. "Charlie and Col will recite the old favourite from our country. 'The Man From Snowy River'." She bowed again and her cousins got up to a round of applause.
"'The Man From Snowy River." Charlie said.
"By A.B. 'Banjo' Patterson." Col added.
"It's more of a story." Charlie warned and the two launched into the poem.
"There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses -- he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight." Charlie said.
"There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up -
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains." Col continued. The brothers kept swapping over and over.
"And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony -- three parts thoroughbred at least -
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry -- just the sort that won't say die -
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head." Charlie said, tipping his hat at Risty. It was obvious he had feelings for her. She giggled.
"But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop -- lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful -- only Clancy stood his friend -
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred."" Col said, not noticing Charlie's obvious attempts to get their cousins attention.
""He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."" Charlie said.
"So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."" Col continued.
"So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew." Charlie said.
"Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side."" Col carried on.
"When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear." Charlie said.
"He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent." Col said.
"He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels." Charlie said.
"And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur." Col said.
"And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride." They finished the poem together. They took a bow to applause. Col sat down in between Rhian and Silver and Charlie sat next to Risty.
Billy got up next . . .
A/N: Yes, yes, yes. Me and Charlie are going out.