Laura, Im sorry. You do have the Sheffieldish accent, even though you live
in the Chest of Man... Er Manchester... I alopogize... oh, and I got your
little mantra in here 'Elrond in a tutu, Elrond in a tutu...' BUT! I have
seen Hugo Weaving in drag, and find it quite alluring! Your mantra has no
power over me! (Oh, and yes, you are in the mosh pit…)
LAURA, I BOW BEFORE YOUR HOBBIT FLUFF!
* * * * * * * * * *
Using all of this skill and cunning, Aragorn silently stalked through the trees, tracking the source of the mysterious noise.
Legolas and Boromir followed a little way behind, chatting lightly.
"So, being dead... how was it?"
"Well..." Boromir paused. "Cause you 'ave no point o' reference, I can't describe it to ya."
"You mean I have to die before you'll tell me what its like to be dead?" Legolas looked puzzled.
"Exactly."
"Where on middle-earth did you hear that? I *know* you didn't think of it yourself..." Boromir opened his mouth to protest, then paused.
"I...I dunno." He shrugged. "Summat 'bout stars and trekkin' through 'em springs to mind, but I dunno...."
A whistle interrupted them. Legolas sighed.
"Aragorn, you don't have to whistle you know." Several more whistles followed that. "No, I will not shut up!"
"He, er... You... You can understand him?" Boromir suddenly looked nervous. Legolas shrugged.
"He had a lot of time on his hands, being King of Gondor... He created a whole dictionary." A combination of whistles echoed through the forest. "No! Aragorn, stop whistling! You're attracting attention to yourself!"
An indignant whistle was the reply.
Meanwhile, several metres behind them, two small figures followed them, being as silent as hobbits can be in the dark.
"Merry, are you sure this is a good idea?" Pippin elbowed his cousin in the ribs, and Merry slapped his arm away.
"Yes! We don't wanna miss out on the action! We are knights!" Pippin looked unconvinced, but followed the older hobbit as they scuttled between the trees and peered out from behind a great oak. Boromir and Legolas were talking quietly a little further forward. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. Around them beat the dramatic music, the volume steadily increasing.
Aragorn could tell he was getting closer. The music was almost deafening. He drew his sword, and shook the images of Legolas from his head. His grip tight on the hilt of Anduril, he leapt forward whilst emitting a high- pitched whistle and brushing through a screen of foliage and tree leaves. He staggered to a halt, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the bright light before him.
Boromir, Legolas, Merry and Pippin looked up as a sudden, high-pitched whistle was heard above the dramatic music.
"He's in danger!" Legolas cried, grabbing his bow, a couple of arrows and racing from the clearing. Boromir followed, wielding his sword. Merry and Pippin looked at each other, then raced after them.
The five companions stared in shocked surprise at the sight before them. Encased in a bright, white light, a dozen or so elves sat in a clearing, clutching various instruments. They were all blonde, save one who stood before them, waving a stick around in one hand, and gesturing wildly with the other, long dark hair flowing over his shoulders.
"Flippin' 'eck." Boromir said. At his voice, the elves stopped and looked up, the one with dark hair whirled round.
"Elrond?!" Legolas managed to gasp. Elrond looked sheepish, suddenly realised an Elven Lord doesn't have to explain themselves, and contented himself with expertly raising an eyebrow in a look of complete indifference. Aragorn stepped forward.
"My Lord? Why are you doing this?" Elrond gazed evenly at the man in front of him.
"I fear the Author's power has completely taken over Rivendell." The five men/hobbits/elf gasped. "We had to leave, it was becoming... dangerous. The have turned my great hall into a..." He tried to remember what it was his sons Elladan and Elrohir had called it. "Mosh pit." He nodded, yes, that was it. He had been quite distracted, and horrified, at their new choice of clothing. Elrond had never seen goths or punk rockers before that terrible day. "Glorfindel here..." A cute blonde elf with gray eyes and messy hair holding a violin smiled gently at the troupe. "Has been almost molested several times. Had I not been around to help him, it could have been much worse." Merry and Pippin were the only ones to notice the meaningful glance the two elves shared at that comment. Merry grinned and nudged his younger cousin.
"Then... why are you here with these strange instruments, my Lord?" Legolas asked, looking round the group of elves.
"Unfortunately, when we fled Rivendell, we were caught in the Authors power. We have been forced to follow you since then, playing this strange music." Elrond sighed and looked down at the tuxedo he was wearing. "Last night we managed to rebel, and stopped playing... but only for a while. The Author has grown in strength. I only hope it has nothing to do with Reviews." Boromir looked even more puzzled.
"Reviews?"
"Boromir, son of Denethor, Former Steward of the White City, the Representative of Gondor among the Nine Walkers... you're back." Boromir just nodded. "The old tales of Authors tell of Reviews. They are..." The elf thought about this for a second. "They are given to the Author by the evil powers of its Own Kind. These Reviews make an Author stronger, and give them more power over its victims."
"You mean..." Boromir was having trouble getting his head round this "There are more Authors? More than one?" Elrond nodded, placing the stick he had been waving onto a music stand, knocking several sheets of music to the floor.
"There are many, but it is rare that they find our way to our dimension. Unfortunately, we seem to have attracted one of the stronger ones." Elrond sighed again and looked at the elves sat before him. His fingers twitched slightly, and the urge to grab the stick and wave it around again hit him suddenly (hehe, nice trench thoughts 'bout Elrond... happy now Laura?). He staggered slightly as he tried to fight it. Legolas moved forward to help him, but Elrond waved him away.
"No!" He gasped, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself doing anything rash. "Go! Hurry! We'll try to hold it off..." He groaned as he was suddenly whirled round to face the elves, who had brought their instruments to their proper positions. "Run!"
The five companions turned and ran as fast as they could. Merry and Pippin, running blindly in the dark, reached out and grabbed hold of the others hand, as the first few chords rang out behind them, but was suddenly cut short. They ran as if orcs were behind them, only stopping when Pippin tripped on a fallen tree branch and fell, bringing Merry down on top of him. They rolled a little way, and fell into a ditch.
"Pip?" Merry said after a few seconds of silence.
"Yes Merry?"
"Is that your hand?"
"Yes Merry."
"Oh...Are you su..." He was suddenly cut off as Pippin grabbed his head and pulled him down to kiss him passionately.
Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn raced back towards camp, stumbling in their blind haste. Boromir, racing ahead of the others, suddenly tripped, knocking the other two over. They rolled down a nearby embankment, stopping only when they hit a tree. Boromir groaned and stood up, stumbling a little. He glanced round.
Aragorn lay over Legolas, staring into his eyes, both breathing heavily from the fall. Aragorn shifted position slightly, hearing Legolas gasp, his eyes closing and lips parting slightly. Unable to stop himself, the ranger leant down and pressed his lips to the elf's, feeling hands grip his shoulders and run through his hair.
"Hey! Formerly dead guy here!" Boromir called out, embarrassed slightly by the scene before him. The man and elf in the passionate embrace ignored him, so Boromir thought of something that would put out their fires of passion. "Elrond in a tutu!" He suddenly yelped, grinning as Aragorn pulled away from Legolas. "*Just* a tutu." Aragorn, lips hovering just above Legolas', suddenly jumped back when he heard the elf groan slightly and reach out for him.
"You desire *Elrond*?!" He shrieked, leaping back as Legolas opened his eyes and sat up.
"I.... No! Of course not..." Legolas stood up and brushed himself off. "Let's get back to camp, shall we?"
LAURA, I BOW BEFORE YOUR HOBBIT FLUFF!
* * * * * * * * * *
Using all of this skill and cunning, Aragorn silently stalked through the trees, tracking the source of the mysterious noise.
Legolas and Boromir followed a little way behind, chatting lightly.
"So, being dead... how was it?"
"Well..." Boromir paused. "Cause you 'ave no point o' reference, I can't describe it to ya."
"You mean I have to die before you'll tell me what its like to be dead?" Legolas looked puzzled.
"Exactly."
"Where on middle-earth did you hear that? I *know* you didn't think of it yourself..." Boromir opened his mouth to protest, then paused.
"I...I dunno." He shrugged. "Summat 'bout stars and trekkin' through 'em springs to mind, but I dunno...."
A whistle interrupted them. Legolas sighed.
"Aragorn, you don't have to whistle you know." Several more whistles followed that. "No, I will not shut up!"
"He, er... You... You can understand him?" Boromir suddenly looked nervous. Legolas shrugged.
"He had a lot of time on his hands, being King of Gondor... He created a whole dictionary." A combination of whistles echoed through the forest. "No! Aragorn, stop whistling! You're attracting attention to yourself!"
An indignant whistle was the reply.
Meanwhile, several metres behind them, two small figures followed them, being as silent as hobbits can be in the dark.
"Merry, are you sure this is a good idea?" Pippin elbowed his cousin in the ribs, and Merry slapped his arm away.
"Yes! We don't wanna miss out on the action! We are knights!" Pippin looked unconvinced, but followed the older hobbit as they scuttled between the trees and peered out from behind a great oak. Boromir and Legolas were talking quietly a little further forward. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. Around them beat the dramatic music, the volume steadily increasing.
Aragorn could tell he was getting closer. The music was almost deafening. He drew his sword, and shook the images of Legolas from his head. His grip tight on the hilt of Anduril, he leapt forward whilst emitting a high- pitched whistle and brushing through a screen of foliage and tree leaves. He staggered to a halt, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the bright light before him.
Boromir, Legolas, Merry and Pippin looked up as a sudden, high-pitched whistle was heard above the dramatic music.
"He's in danger!" Legolas cried, grabbing his bow, a couple of arrows and racing from the clearing. Boromir followed, wielding his sword. Merry and Pippin looked at each other, then raced after them.
The five companions stared in shocked surprise at the sight before them. Encased in a bright, white light, a dozen or so elves sat in a clearing, clutching various instruments. They were all blonde, save one who stood before them, waving a stick around in one hand, and gesturing wildly with the other, long dark hair flowing over his shoulders.
"Flippin' 'eck." Boromir said. At his voice, the elves stopped and looked up, the one with dark hair whirled round.
"Elrond?!" Legolas managed to gasp. Elrond looked sheepish, suddenly realised an Elven Lord doesn't have to explain themselves, and contented himself with expertly raising an eyebrow in a look of complete indifference. Aragorn stepped forward.
"My Lord? Why are you doing this?" Elrond gazed evenly at the man in front of him.
"I fear the Author's power has completely taken over Rivendell." The five men/hobbits/elf gasped. "We had to leave, it was becoming... dangerous. The have turned my great hall into a..." He tried to remember what it was his sons Elladan and Elrohir had called it. "Mosh pit." He nodded, yes, that was it. He had been quite distracted, and horrified, at their new choice of clothing. Elrond had never seen goths or punk rockers before that terrible day. "Glorfindel here..." A cute blonde elf with gray eyes and messy hair holding a violin smiled gently at the troupe. "Has been almost molested several times. Had I not been around to help him, it could have been much worse." Merry and Pippin were the only ones to notice the meaningful glance the two elves shared at that comment. Merry grinned and nudged his younger cousin.
"Then... why are you here with these strange instruments, my Lord?" Legolas asked, looking round the group of elves.
"Unfortunately, when we fled Rivendell, we were caught in the Authors power. We have been forced to follow you since then, playing this strange music." Elrond sighed and looked down at the tuxedo he was wearing. "Last night we managed to rebel, and stopped playing... but only for a while. The Author has grown in strength. I only hope it has nothing to do with Reviews." Boromir looked even more puzzled.
"Reviews?"
"Boromir, son of Denethor, Former Steward of the White City, the Representative of Gondor among the Nine Walkers... you're back." Boromir just nodded. "The old tales of Authors tell of Reviews. They are..." The elf thought about this for a second. "They are given to the Author by the evil powers of its Own Kind. These Reviews make an Author stronger, and give them more power over its victims."
"You mean..." Boromir was having trouble getting his head round this "There are more Authors? More than one?" Elrond nodded, placing the stick he had been waving onto a music stand, knocking several sheets of music to the floor.
"There are many, but it is rare that they find our way to our dimension. Unfortunately, we seem to have attracted one of the stronger ones." Elrond sighed again and looked at the elves sat before him. His fingers twitched slightly, and the urge to grab the stick and wave it around again hit him suddenly (hehe, nice trench thoughts 'bout Elrond... happy now Laura?). He staggered slightly as he tried to fight it. Legolas moved forward to help him, but Elrond waved him away.
"No!" He gasped, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself doing anything rash. "Go! Hurry! We'll try to hold it off..." He groaned as he was suddenly whirled round to face the elves, who had brought their instruments to their proper positions. "Run!"
The five companions turned and ran as fast as they could. Merry and Pippin, running blindly in the dark, reached out and grabbed hold of the others hand, as the first few chords rang out behind them, but was suddenly cut short. They ran as if orcs were behind them, only stopping when Pippin tripped on a fallen tree branch and fell, bringing Merry down on top of him. They rolled a little way, and fell into a ditch.
"Pip?" Merry said after a few seconds of silence.
"Yes Merry?"
"Is that your hand?"
"Yes Merry."
"Oh...Are you su..." He was suddenly cut off as Pippin grabbed his head and pulled him down to kiss him passionately.
Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn raced back towards camp, stumbling in their blind haste. Boromir, racing ahead of the others, suddenly tripped, knocking the other two over. They rolled down a nearby embankment, stopping only when they hit a tree. Boromir groaned and stood up, stumbling a little. He glanced round.
Aragorn lay over Legolas, staring into his eyes, both breathing heavily from the fall. Aragorn shifted position slightly, hearing Legolas gasp, his eyes closing and lips parting slightly. Unable to stop himself, the ranger leant down and pressed his lips to the elf's, feeling hands grip his shoulders and run through his hair.
"Hey! Formerly dead guy here!" Boromir called out, embarrassed slightly by the scene before him. The man and elf in the passionate embrace ignored him, so Boromir thought of something that would put out their fires of passion. "Elrond in a tutu!" He suddenly yelped, grinning as Aragorn pulled away from Legolas. "*Just* a tutu." Aragorn, lips hovering just above Legolas', suddenly jumped back when he heard the elf groan slightly and reach out for him.
"You desire *Elrond*?!" He shrieked, leaping back as Legolas opened his eyes and sat up.
"I.... No! Of course not..." Legolas stood up and brushed himself off. "Let's get back to camp, shall we?"