Ok, most of this was written to retain my sanity during a family vacation,
so don't complain. Or if you feel like complaining, review, because we like
flamers better than nothing at all. Very amusing, most of the time. Sorry I
haven't written in so long; my muse was locked in my locker and couldn't
get out. Not a very skilled lock-picker, my muse. And sorry to our loyal
reviewer for the rap, not my fault.
None of this belongs to me, of course, except the unfortunate movie person and the radio. And I'm not sure if the radio is mine anymore, cause Tom won't give it back. The point is, don't sue, cause I don't even have my radio anymore.
*************************************************************
Tom Bombadil appeared over the hills, fiddling with a portable radio so that it wouldn't play rap any more. The barrow wights sighed in relief, then realized who it was and ran away. Tom noticed the ten people laid out on the hill and sighed.
"You could've called me, stupid people! It would've saved me all the trouble of randomly appearing just in the nick of time," he mumbled to himself. "Really, the rhyme's not that hard to remember, it's." he trailed off, trying to remember it. "In any case, it's not hard." The second fellowship began to wake up slowly.
"Wha...?" muttered Bilbo, sitting up slowly. The others mostly followed suit. Tom explained, then invited them to come to his house.
*************************************************************
Tom sat his guests around his table. It had been a while since he'd had visitors. The last had been four hobbits, not long before. They'd gone on and apparently joined a group like this one. Their story was well known and he had been part of it. But then some man in strange clothes had come and told him that the fat innkeeper down the road could be in the movie but Tom Bombadil, beloved of all sane fans and a very important, mysterious person, couldn't. That man had met Old Man Willow. As far as Tom could tell, they liked each other's company. The man hadn't come back yet. And now he just sat around, saving stupid or hapless travelers that happened upon the Barrow-downs or the forest.
"So why are you here?" he asked.
"I thought you talked in rhyme," one of his guests said.
Tom shrugged. "Promotional stunt. I can't really be bothered. I can't sing well either. I can lip-sync, though."
"We're on a quest," one of his guests announced.
"Really?"
"We wanted bigger parts."
"Really?" Tom was interested; he always wanted a bigger part.
"So when the old Fellowship died, we were asked to go on our own quest to save Middle-Earth."
"Ooh, ooh, can I come?" he asked.
"No! We've already got ten people. That's -" the guest's eyes crossed in concentration, "one more than the original Fellowship already!"
"But-"
"Besides, you don't need a bigger part. All the fans love you."
"And you don't need rabid fan.people; you've got Goldberry," pointed out a female hobbit.
"Oh, she left me for some big Hollywood star. Seems I'm not good enough for her or Hollywood."
"Aw, let him come," an elf said.
"Can we keep him?" his identical twin asked the party's wizard.
"No, he can't come."
"Please?"
"No!"
"Pretty please with cherries on top?"
"No!"
"But some of you don't need this. Faramir has a part in the movie. So does Bilbo. I recognize you two; you're big movie stars now. Bilbo has his own book. And Faramir has rabid fan girls (A/N: Named Narchannen Fae) already!"
"You know, he has a point," the wizard said, looking up.
"Who are you talking to?" someone asked.
"The Author."
"What?"
"Um, haha, well, um, yeah. Bye!" said The Author, and stopped writing. Everyone froze in mid-confused, stupid look. Then The Author came back with a really good explanation, told everyone, and picked up the story.
"So that's why you can't come," said the wizard smugly.
So Tom agreed and gave them food, drinks, directions, and a lift back to the edge of his territory. And then he went back to sit next to Old Man Willow and listen to him digest his meal. The movie man was nowhere in sight. Tom shrugged, figuring the movie man had got tired or hungry and wandered off. He patted Old Man Willow's trunk.
"Good boy," he said.
TBC.
None of this belongs to me, of course, except the unfortunate movie person and the radio. And I'm not sure if the radio is mine anymore, cause Tom won't give it back. The point is, don't sue, cause I don't even have my radio anymore.
*************************************************************
Tom Bombadil appeared over the hills, fiddling with a portable radio so that it wouldn't play rap any more. The barrow wights sighed in relief, then realized who it was and ran away. Tom noticed the ten people laid out on the hill and sighed.
"You could've called me, stupid people! It would've saved me all the trouble of randomly appearing just in the nick of time," he mumbled to himself. "Really, the rhyme's not that hard to remember, it's." he trailed off, trying to remember it. "In any case, it's not hard." The second fellowship began to wake up slowly.
"Wha...?" muttered Bilbo, sitting up slowly. The others mostly followed suit. Tom explained, then invited them to come to his house.
*************************************************************
Tom sat his guests around his table. It had been a while since he'd had visitors. The last had been four hobbits, not long before. They'd gone on and apparently joined a group like this one. Their story was well known and he had been part of it. But then some man in strange clothes had come and told him that the fat innkeeper down the road could be in the movie but Tom Bombadil, beloved of all sane fans and a very important, mysterious person, couldn't. That man had met Old Man Willow. As far as Tom could tell, they liked each other's company. The man hadn't come back yet. And now he just sat around, saving stupid or hapless travelers that happened upon the Barrow-downs or the forest.
"So why are you here?" he asked.
"I thought you talked in rhyme," one of his guests said.
Tom shrugged. "Promotional stunt. I can't really be bothered. I can't sing well either. I can lip-sync, though."
"We're on a quest," one of his guests announced.
"Really?"
"We wanted bigger parts."
"Really?" Tom was interested; he always wanted a bigger part.
"So when the old Fellowship died, we were asked to go on our own quest to save Middle-Earth."
"Ooh, ooh, can I come?" he asked.
"No! We've already got ten people. That's -" the guest's eyes crossed in concentration, "one more than the original Fellowship already!"
"But-"
"Besides, you don't need a bigger part. All the fans love you."
"And you don't need rabid fan.people; you've got Goldberry," pointed out a female hobbit.
"Oh, she left me for some big Hollywood star. Seems I'm not good enough for her or Hollywood."
"Aw, let him come," an elf said.
"Can we keep him?" his identical twin asked the party's wizard.
"No, he can't come."
"Please?"
"No!"
"Pretty please with cherries on top?"
"No!"
"But some of you don't need this. Faramir has a part in the movie. So does Bilbo. I recognize you two; you're big movie stars now. Bilbo has his own book. And Faramir has rabid fan girls (A/N: Named Narchannen Fae) already!"
"You know, he has a point," the wizard said, looking up.
"Who are you talking to?" someone asked.
"The Author."
"What?"
"Um, haha, well, um, yeah. Bye!" said The Author, and stopped writing. Everyone froze in mid-confused, stupid look. Then The Author came back with a really good explanation, told everyone, and picked up the story.
"So that's why you can't come," said the wizard smugly.
So Tom agreed and gave them food, drinks, directions, and a lift back to the edge of his territory. And then he went back to sit next to Old Man Willow and listen to him digest his meal. The movie man was nowhere in sight. Tom shrugged, figuring the movie man had got tired or hungry and wandered off. He patted Old Man Willow's trunk.
"Good boy," he said.
TBC.