Disclaimer: I don't own, heck, most of the stuff in this chapter.
Somebody must own Les Mis, sure isn't me. Tolkien owns almost everything
else. I own Sarah and Ryan.
A/N: This is a short little interlude-y chapter. VERY IMPORTANT, THOUGH.
Everyone go read kewl's stories and poems, and Micki's story! I've actually inspired people to write! Wahoo! I'm all muse-y!
Ian: *standing in an undershirt, green boxers and socks, eating grape yogurt with a fork and not succeeding* Yeah, but who inspires you? ME, that's right, baby. Just so we get it straight. *gives up on the yogurt and eats the fork. Don't ask.*
That was weird. I should stop procrastinating with my muse and write, right? I'm not taking notes on a chapter for English, studying for my Bio final, or writing two essays to do this. Talk about procrastination.
Oh, and by the way, this chapter contains a MAJORLY IMPORTANT PLOT TWIST.
Enjoy!
To reiterate: MAJORLY IMPORTANT.
(Starbrat- yes, the plot thickens… thick thick thick, oh yeah, thick…)
7
While Merry and Pippin argued their way into the Fellowship, while the One Ring weighed heavily on Boromir's mind, while Aragorn and Gandalf prepared grimly for the coming journey, while Frodo enjoyed his last days of peace at Rivendell, while Sam pondered over what to bring, while Alder pined after an oblivious young woman, while Ryan Dean fell to fever again, while Sarah Dean wrestled with the suspicion of deceit, the rest of the world trudged ever forward into tomorrow.
Not a single one imagined that a crucial part of their quest was missing- none realized that the cause of their coming failures stemmed from one solitary mistake. But, as it tends to do, time went on.
Even in the crowded kitchens of King Theoden…
***
The woman wiped greasy sweat from her brow, and glanced longingly out the window. She knew, after years of working in this sweatshop otherwise known as the king's kitchen, exactly where the sun would be when she could leave. This morning she was working especially hard because it was the King Theoden's niece's birthday. They would feast morning, noon, and night, then go back to rationing. The restrictions always seemed to leave the poorest with the emptiest pockets, she thought with a sigh.
Her long, once-smooth golden hair was wrapped hastily in a tight handkerchief, so nothing would interfere with her cooking. On the menu this morning? Roasted pears with almond sauce, eggs from the king's prize chickens prepared in every way imaginable, boiled apples and tea leaves mixed to a thick porridge, and a host of other foods. Right now, she churned the steaming apples in a huge basin, mixing spices in as she saw fit, while keeping a close eye on the peaches.
She hummed to herself, a tune that none of the other kitchen maids had ever heard. Sometimes, if she was lucky, they would call for a song, and she could cook in peace. It was always easier to sing and work that stay silent. But mostly the older women would gripe and occasionally throw things to make her stop, if the hustle and bustle lessened enough for her to be heard.
Now, Ionae, one of the youngest, laughed gaily for her to sing. It seemed they were all in high spirits today, she noticed thankfully.
"Come, now, Mahda!" Ionae called. No one called her by her true name- they could barely pronounce it, so Mahda was what came out. In fact, the women working here were from all over Middle-Earth, chosen for their culinary talents, so nicknames were more the rule than the exception. "Rival the songbirds!"
"Oh, all right," she murmured. "Again, this is not in your tongue. I'll sing a song from my land, but I can translate later if you'd like!"
"Oh, if we were want of a school lesson, we would not be fit to work now! I think we are not, so we are, so sing!" grumbled someone beyond a column of smoke also known as a baking duck in the process of burning.
"Ionae, child!" another woman shrieked, and saved the duck and bringing an uproar.
Mahda sighed. Then she began to sing, hoping everyone would calm down.
"And now I'm all alone again
Nowhere to turn, no one to go to
Without a home, without a friend
Without a face to say hello to
And now the night is near, and I can make
Believe he's here.
Sometimes I walk alone at night when everybody else is sleeping.
I think of him and then I'm happy with the company I'm keeping
The city goes to bed
And I can live inside my head.
On my own
Pretending he's beside me.
All alone I walk with him till morning
Without him
I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way I close my eyes
And he has found me.
In the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me for ever and forever.
And I know it's only in my mind
That I'm talking to myself and not to him
And although I know that he is blind
Still I say there's a way for us.
I love him
But when the night is over
He is gone, the river's just a river
Without him the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.
I love him
But everyday I'm learning
All my life I've only been pretending
Without me his world will go on turning
A world that's full of happiness that I have
Never known.
I love him, I love him.
I love him, but only on my own."
Everyone was quiet. It really was a beautiful song, requiring relative silence for the full effect. And, truly, everyone felt the full effect.
After a long moment, Iorae ventured quietly, "Eh, Mahda, are those words out of your own head?"
Mahda blushed. "Oh, of course not. It's a song from Les Miserables."
"Lay- what?"
"Oh, nothing. Something from my past. You wouldn't know it."
Then the head chef gave the ten-minute shout, and everyone bustled back to focused work.
~~~*random scoffing as reviewers glance at each other in irritation*
And the reviewers say, "What in the heck is she talking about?"
And the author responds, "Heh heh heh. I love springing mysterious plot twists! They're so satisfying!"
REVIEW!
A/N: This is a short little interlude-y chapter. VERY IMPORTANT, THOUGH.
Everyone go read kewl's stories and poems, and Micki's story! I've actually inspired people to write! Wahoo! I'm all muse-y!
Ian: *standing in an undershirt, green boxers and socks, eating grape yogurt with a fork and not succeeding* Yeah, but who inspires you? ME, that's right, baby. Just so we get it straight. *gives up on the yogurt and eats the fork. Don't ask.*
That was weird. I should stop procrastinating with my muse and write, right? I'm not taking notes on a chapter for English, studying for my Bio final, or writing two essays to do this. Talk about procrastination.
Oh, and by the way, this chapter contains a MAJORLY IMPORTANT PLOT TWIST.
Enjoy!
To reiterate: MAJORLY IMPORTANT.
(Starbrat- yes, the plot thickens… thick thick thick, oh yeah, thick…)
7
While Merry and Pippin argued their way into the Fellowship, while the One Ring weighed heavily on Boromir's mind, while Aragorn and Gandalf prepared grimly for the coming journey, while Frodo enjoyed his last days of peace at Rivendell, while Sam pondered over what to bring, while Alder pined after an oblivious young woman, while Ryan Dean fell to fever again, while Sarah Dean wrestled with the suspicion of deceit, the rest of the world trudged ever forward into tomorrow.
Not a single one imagined that a crucial part of their quest was missing- none realized that the cause of their coming failures stemmed from one solitary mistake. But, as it tends to do, time went on.
Even in the crowded kitchens of King Theoden…
***
The woman wiped greasy sweat from her brow, and glanced longingly out the window. She knew, after years of working in this sweatshop otherwise known as the king's kitchen, exactly where the sun would be when she could leave. This morning she was working especially hard because it was the King Theoden's niece's birthday. They would feast morning, noon, and night, then go back to rationing. The restrictions always seemed to leave the poorest with the emptiest pockets, she thought with a sigh.
Her long, once-smooth golden hair was wrapped hastily in a tight handkerchief, so nothing would interfere with her cooking. On the menu this morning? Roasted pears with almond sauce, eggs from the king's prize chickens prepared in every way imaginable, boiled apples and tea leaves mixed to a thick porridge, and a host of other foods. Right now, she churned the steaming apples in a huge basin, mixing spices in as she saw fit, while keeping a close eye on the peaches.
She hummed to herself, a tune that none of the other kitchen maids had ever heard. Sometimes, if she was lucky, they would call for a song, and she could cook in peace. It was always easier to sing and work that stay silent. But mostly the older women would gripe and occasionally throw things to make her stop, if the hustle and bustle lessened enough for her to be heard.
Now, Ionae, one of the youngest, laughed gaily for her to sing. It seemed they were all in high spirits today, she noticed thankfully.
"Come, now, Mahda!" Ionae called. No one called her by her true name- they could barely pronounce it, so Mahda was what came out. In fact, the women working here were from all over Middle-Earth, chosen for their culinary talents, so nicknames were more the rule than the exception. "Rival the songbirds!"
"Oh, all right," she murmured. "Again, this is not in your tongue. I'll sing a song from my land, but I can translate later if you'd like!"
"Oh, if we were want of a school lesson, we would not be fit to work now! I think we are not, so we are, so sing!" grumbled someone beyond a column of smoke also known as a baking duck in the process of burning.
"Ionae, child!" another woman shrieked, and saved the duck and bringing an uproar.
Mahda sighed. Then she began to sing, hoping everyone would calm down.
"And now I'm all alone again
Nowhere to turn, no one to go to
Without a home, without a friend
Without a face to say hello to
And now the night is near, and I can make
Believe he's here.
Sometimes I walk alone at night when everybody else is sleeping.
I think of him and then I'm happy with the company I'm keeping
The city goes to bed
And I can live inside my head.
On my own
Pretending he's beside me.
All alone I walk with him till morning
Without him
I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way I close my eyes
And he has found me.
In the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me for ever and forever.
And I know it's only in my mind
That I'm talking to myself and not to him
And although I know that he is blind
Still I say there's a way for us.
I love him
But when the night is over
He is gone, the river's just a river
Without him the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.
I love him
But everyday I'm learning
All my life I've only been pretending
Without me his world will go on turning
A world that's full of happiness that I have
Never known.
I love him, I love him.
I love him, but only on my own."
Everyone was quiet. It really was a beautiful song, requiring relative silence for the full effect. And, truly, everyone felt the full effect.
After a long moment, Iorae ventured quietly, "Eh, Mahda, are those words out of your own head?"
Mahda blushed. "Oh, of course not. It's a song from Les Miserables."
"Lay- what?"
"Oh, nothing. Something from my past. You wouldn't know it."
Then the head chef gave the ten-minute shout, and everyone bustled back to focused work.
~~~*random scoffing as reviewers glance at each other in irritation*
And the reviewers say, "What in the heck is she talking about?"
And the author responds, "Heh heh heh. I love springing mysterious plot twists! They're so satisfying!"
REVIEW!
