[a/n] Holey Potatoes! An update!

Special thanks to Anthea and the Lord of the Rings Random Ficplot Generator: () and Kero from the OFUM list, who generated the random plot and shared.

Colonel Dirtyfishydishcloth and the lyrics to Winter belong to Tori Amos

Lord of the Rings, and all characters and concepts therein, belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and the Tolkien estate.

Gretel, alas, is mine.  She is not a real person.  She is not a self-insert.  She is a product of my diseased imagination.

No animals were harmed in the writing of this fic.

Bob is a very nice name.

As is Margaret.  I apologize to any Margarets, Gretels, Marys and to anyone bearing the last name of Smythe (or even the first or middle name of Smythe).  Gretel is not a reflection of any of you, just as said before, a product of my diseased imagination. 

I think I mentioned it in my description, but this is, by nature of the random plot generated, and AU fic, and there are purposeful wild divergences from canon.

I honor Gimli Elf-Friend. I would not bash him. I'm sure he could thrash me from here to infinity if he so desired. He deserves nothing but the utmost respect--and a girl to keep around for a pleasure-slave when the desire comes upon him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------


The Woeful tale of Princess Dirtyfishydishiel

Five: What can Brown do For You?

"Arise." 

The one word, spoken in such an authoritative way brought Gretel's head up off her elbows.  For some strange reason, the Elves had no beds.  She was certain she had read something someplace of their being beds in Rivendell.  Frodo had woken up in one in the movie.  The Elves had to sleep sometime, didn't they?  Unfortunately, she never found out if they did or didn't sleep, because her own exhaustion forced her into a sleep, and when she was that tired, she didn't care if Elves slept or not. 

They had to sleep, though, didn't they?  After all, they were like humans. 

"I said arise," The voice came again.  It was very kingly, and there were those hiccups again.  It must be Aragorn. 

"I don't think it hears you," hissed Gollum. 

"Legolas," Aragorn commanded, "shouldn't this thing be in the dungeon?"

Legolas?  Gretel sat up immediately, looking around for the Elf of her dreams.  Of course, by the time her eyes cleared from the vertigo that came from sitting up too quickly, Legolas and Gollum were gone, though there were Aragorn's company of Rangers and the two Elf Twins standing around her; they looked impatient.

"Good, you are awake," Aragorn remarked.  "Get yourself ready quickly.  We're leaving shortly."

"Leaving?" Gretel asked; suddenly very, very awake. 

Aragorn turned and gave Gretel a very patient stare.  "Yes, leaving," he reiterated. 

"But why?" Gretel asked.  "We just got here!"  She hadn't even had time to corner Legolas and have their arranged marriage so he could hate her and then come to miss her and love her on the Quest, and them come back bearing a ring from Frodo's Mithril vest and mount the sapphire and the diamonds in it and give it to her proving his love to her and they could live happily ever after, DAMNIT! 

"I am sorry, my Lady," Aragorn said, his words polite, but his tone clipped as if she had crossed one too many lines with him.  "I have my orders."

Gretel held out her hand.  "Let me see them!" she demanded. 

With a heavy sigh, Aragorn handed over the vellum scroll.  Gretel opened it, finding the letters foreign to her.  It looked like the markings in the movie on the One Ring, all pretty and flowing and curvy, but entirely senseless.  As if anyone could read that sort of stuff. 

"Allow me," Aragorn said, and began to read the letter:

Dearest Aragorn, son of Arathorn, also called Strider, Estel, Elessar, Etc.

Greetings from Valinor!  Námo asked me to put this request to you, as it is a very delicate situation, and not something normally done in your duties.  Therefore, calling on the love you bear for your ancestors, I ask you to convey this girl (see attached) to Erebor, to Gimli son of Glóin, who is in need of some female companionship, as per the following request:

'Mahal, I worry about my son Gimli.  He spends most of his days at the smith creating matchless works of beauty.  Granted, this is a normal Dwarvish custom, but I am getting old now, and would like for my son to find some companionship when I am no longer here.  Therefore, I ask you to please send a female--any female--to Erebor.  I understand that beggars cannot be choosers, therefore I do not ask specifically for a Dwarf, but please make her sturdy and suitable for a companion to a Dwarf.  Signed Glóin son of Gróin.' 

As it will keep Aulë happy, and therefore Yavanna happy, and therefore all the trees here in Valinor happy, please attend to this duty post-haste. 

Sincerely,

Your Great Great Great Great Great Great Great, etc. Grandmother, Melian.

PS. Don't forget to wash behind your ears. 

PPS. Celebrían wishes to tell Elladan and Elrohir to stop laughing at Aragorn, and to remind them to pack clean underclothes when they are tromping through the woods hunting Orcs.  She also wishes them to give her love and kisses to Elrond and Arwen, and asks to them to remind Elrond that when he finally takes the ship West that she would like him to bring her a shrubbery.

"That is the letter," Aragorn said with utmost dignity.  The two dark-haired elves stopped laughing almost immediately when clean underclothes were mentioned. 

Gretel stared at him, her jaw slack.  Gimli?  She was being given to Gimli?  Princess Dirtyfishydishiel was supposed to be Legolas's wife!  "No!" she said, protesting, grabbing the letter from Aragorn's hands.  "No, that can't be right, tell me you lied.  Tell me this is some practical joke." 

Aragorn's face was impassive, save for the periodic hiccup.  "If it is a jest, my lady, it is the jest of the Valar and not myself." 

Gretel belatedly recalled the parting words of the Maia what seemed like ages ago.  She flopped down on the ground, curling her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees and started to pout.  "I'm not going," she declared.  She wasn't going.  Not to Gimli.  He was so short, and hairy and... short and... hairy and ugly and... hairy and short.  He didn't even have pointed ears and he was short, and had all that stupid armor on and was short... and hairy.  And it was bushy hair, not smooth and pretty like Legolas's hair.  "I'm not going," she repeated. 

~*~

"She complains worse than Gollum," One of the twins said, steering the raft made of barrels down the river. 

"Even Thranduil had pity for Gimli," the other replied, "and everyone knows by now how Glóin and the rest of the Dwarves were treated in Mirkwood a few years back." 

"No one deserves that," the first said. 

The 'that' in question was still pouting and moping, occasionally wailing, often whimpering, her feet dangling over the side of the raft.  "I should just throw myself in now," Gretel moaned. 

"I cannot let you do that, my Lady," Aragorn said seriously.  "I'm on orders from a higher being." 

"If I cannot marry Legolas, I might as well die," Gretel pouted.  Well, unless one (or both... ooh, both) of the twin sons of Elrond chose to rescue her from her black pit of despair-filled depression.  Maybe Aragorn might help too.  This idea was getting better and better.  And if the Rangers had to jump in the river to rescue her, they'd get some sort of washing going on, or at leas a good rinse.  And then all the incredibly rugged men and beyond sexy Elves would vie for her attention.  And Legolas would get jealous and he'd leap in too, and she could have the twins and Legolas (and his father didn't look bad either)...  Gretel leaned forward intending to fall in the water. 

Her collar tightened around her neck.  Gretel looked up to see Aragorn holding fast to the back of her collar.  "I do not think so, my Lady," he warned.  "I am not having the Ainur wroth with me from your misguided attempts to snuff your own life." 

"Gimli is ugly!" Gretel wailed.  "And short, and hairy!"

"Here we go again." 

"I miss Gollum."

~*~

Why did mountains have to be so steep?  Gretel most certainly did not enjoy the steepness of the climb.  She didn't particularly enjoy the height either.  Why did mountains have to be so tall?  Why did mountains have to be mountains at all?  "Can we rest yet?" Gretel gasped.  Certainly none of the other Men or Elves seemed to be having trouble with the climb up the mountain. 

"We're almost there," Aragorn encouraged.  "We only have to go to the Gate." 

When at last the Gate was reached, a grueling, whining, painful, pitying hour later, Aragorn knocked at someplace Gretel could only assume was a door, though she could see no sign of one. 

"Who are you that come baring a strange and odd creature?" a voice boomed from the top of the wall of the Gate. 

Aragorn looked up.  For some reason, while Gretel looked at him, she noticed his usual Ranger clothes were gone.  Unfortunately, he was not nude.  He was dressed in a button-down brown shirt with matching brown shorts of a familiar delivery service.  His brown socks even had the symbol emblazoned on them.  "Delivery for one Gimli, son of Glóin!" he called to the Dwarf atop the walls. 

"One moment!" the Dwarf yelled back. 

Gretel was certain more than one moment had passed by the time the Gate opened and two Dwarves appeared, one appearing much older than the other.  "She has arrived!" the older Dwarf said eagerly.  The younger one eyed Gretel warily as if she was a deadly incarnation of a heretofore undiscovered race—one whose very look was poison. 

"Sign here, please," Aragorn said, holding out an anachronistic electronic device upon which the old Dwarf wrote his signature.  "Thank you and enjoy your..." Aragorn paused, trying to find an accurate description. Failing to find any words, he just gestured at Gretel.  He nodded his head once and turned, his cloak swirling out behind him as once again he was clad in his familiar smelly Ranger clothes. 

"We should get her inside," Glóin told his son. 

Gimli was still eyeing Gretel, making her feel rather uncomfortable.  "Aye, well she'll be good for hauling stone at least," Gilmli pronounced. 

And thus Gretel was taken through the Gate and into the Lonley Mountain.