-More and more blatant liberties taken with names as I further mess around
with Tolkein's world. I think I should send his estate something very nice
to stop them killing me.-
Gonâd was a very nice bloke, Nob decided, after about a week of travelling. A very nice bloke, who just didn't know when to shut up. He really didn't need to know the intimate details of Gonâd's life. The really intimate details. It was just. unpleasant. And as for shared bathing in rivers; that was just horrible. Absolutely horrible. Especially given Nob's rather unique fear.
And no traveller had ever told Nob of insect bites. Every inch of his arms were covered in itchy sores, which Gonâd said would go away if they weren't scratched. The question was, how could one not scratch something that itched so much. It was impossible.
"I'm itchy," Nob whined for the twentieth time that day, which was quite an achievement as they had been awake for all of an hour.
"Stop scratching," Gonâd replied. "I once had a bite on my left bollock. Now that itched. You don't even know itching till you've been bitten there. I'll show you how it scarred if you don't stop complaining." That was the twentieth time Gonâd had made the threat. It always managed to silence Nob for a good few minutes.
Nob was interrupted from his cycle of complaints by the sudden sound of music. It was by no means sweet music. In fact the song, in a tongue he had never heard before, sounded quite discordant, and, from the way it was being sang, bawdy.
And then, in Westron:
"O! Vagi! Look! A hobbit!"
"Anu, this is a sign! A sign!"
And suddenly Nob found himself smothered by elves. The blighters moved fast. "Will you be our companion?" came a lilting female voice from somewhere above his head. He thought it might be coming from the figure who was sitting on his back.
"Rrrrmph nnnrh," Nob replied, as politely as possible for one who is trapped beneath two elves, who, though not heavy, smelt slightly from travelling. They were also, he noticed from one of the legs which was in his face, extremely muddy. From tales he had heard, Nob had always assumed that elves were beautiful and fragrant no matter what conditions they were in. This was evidently not the case.
"O, Vagi, this is perfect," said a slightly less female voice.
"And there's a Man, too! Truly marvellous. Hello, Man, will you be our companion?"
"Would you mind not sitting on my companion, then?" Gonâd asked, rather politely, by his standards.
"You will accompany us to the Sea, then?" the female elf asked, shifting her weight slightly off Nob's chest.
"We're heading in that direction anyway," Gonâd said. Both elves moved to get off Nob, who was lying at a most uncomfortable angle in the grass.
"Excellent. We shall be a sort of fellowship, then," the male elf said, caressing his bow.
"FOKIN! FOKIN!" the female elf screeched, suddenly losing the musical lilt to her voice. Elves could shout extremely loudly, a fact which is often not mentioned in legend.
A rather miserable looking dwarf trudged to join the elves. "This," the elf said, "is Fokin, our other companion. Have you heard the tales of Prince Legolas and Gimli? Since then, we elves have been building the bridges, filling our rift. So Fokin is our companion."
"I was just minding my own business when they tackled me," Fokin said.
"He's a great friend of ours," the elf continued, ignoring completely what her great friend had contributed to the conversation. "Now let me introduce you to my brother, Anúsol. And that just leaves me! I am Vagísil. And you two are?"
"Nob the hobbit."
"Gonâd the Gallant. So we have Anúsol, Vagísil and Fokin the dwarf. And we're all headed towards Testé Kûl?"
"Perhaps a song is in order," Anúsol said. Fokin looked suicidal, and Nob could tell that the dwarf had endured many, many hours of singing and was unable to take any more.
"Let's sing the one about meadows!" Vagísil exclaimed cheerfully. "I do love that song.
"Or." her brother added, in a tone which implied that he had just thought of the most wonderful thing. "We could ask our new companions to teach us one of their songs. Fokin taught us a most enlightening ditty. Sing it."
"No," Fokin said.
"Such an amusing fellow!" Vagísil gushed.
"I'd say he was rather queer, though," Anúsol added. "A thoroughly queer fellow, if you ask me."
"Dear brother, anyone who is not of our kin is somewhat queer to you. I suppose you think this Gonâd is queer, too."
"Exceedingly so. But I care not. My heart if full of gladness, and I feel like singing a gay song! O, what a gay, gay day!"
And so, they were five.
Gonâd was a very nice bloke, Nob decided, after about a week of travelling. A very nice bloke, who just didn't know when to shut up. He really didn't need to know the intimate details of Gonâd's life. The really intimate details. It was just. unpleasant. And as for shared bathing in rivers; that was just horrible. Absolutely horrible. Especially given Nob's rather unique fear.
And no traveller had ever told Nob of insect bites. Every inch of his arms were covered in itchy sores, which Gonâd said would go away if they weren't scratched. The question was, how could one not scratch something that itched so much. It was impossible.
"I'm itchy," Nob whined for the twentieth time that day, which was quite an achievement as they had been awake for all of an hour.
"Stop scratching," Gonâd replied. "I once had a bite on my left bollock. Now that itched. You don't even know itching till you've been bitten there. I'll show you how it scarred if you don't stop complaining." That was the twentieth time Gonâd had made the threat. It always managed to silence Nob for a good few minutes.
Nob was interrupted from his cycle of complaints by the sudden sound of music. It was by no means sweet music. In fact the song, in a tongue he had never heard before, sounded quite discordant, and, from the way it was being sang, bawdy.
And then, in Westron:
"O! Vagi! Look! A hobbit!"
"Anu, this is a sign! A sign!"
And suddenly Nob found himself smothered by elves. The blighters moved fast. "Will you be our companion?" came a lilting female voice from somewhere above his head. He thought it might be coming from the figure who was sitting on his back.
"Rrrrmph nnnrh," Nob replied, as politely as possible for one who is trapped beneath two elves, who, though not heavy, smelt slightly from travelling. They were also, he noticed from one of the legs which was in his face, extremely muddy. From tales he had heard, Nob had always assumed that elves were beautiful and fragrant no matter what conditions they were in. This was evidently not the case.
"O, Vagi, this is perfect," said a slightly less female voice.
"And there's a Man, too! Truly marvellous. Hello, Man, will you be our companion?"
"Would you mind not sitting on my companion, then?" Gonâd asked, rather politely, by his standards.
"You will accompany us to the Sea, then?" the female elf asked, shifting her weight slightly off Nob's chest.
"We're heading in that direction anyway," Gonâd said. Both elves moved to get off Nob, who was lying at a most uncomfortable angle in the grass.
"Excellent. We shall be a sort of fellowship, then," the male elf said, caressing his bow.
"FOKIN! FOKIN!" the female elf screeched, suddenly losing the musical lilt to her voice. Elves could shout extremely loudly, a fact which is often not mentioned in legend.
A rather miserable looking dwarf trudged to join the elves. "This," the elf said, "is Fokin, our other companion. Have you heard the tales of Prince Legolas and Gimli? Since then, we elves have been building the bridges, filling our rift. So Fokin is our companion."
"I was just minding my own business when they tackled me," Fokin said.
"He's a great friend of ours," the elf continued, ignoring completely what her great friend had contributed to the conversation. "Now let me introduce you to my brother, Anúsol. And that just leaves me! I am Vagísil. And you two are?"
"Nob the hobbit."
"Gonâd the Gallant. So we have Anúsol, Vagísil and Fokin the dwarf. And we're all headed towards Testé Kûl?"
"Perhaps a song is in order," Anúsol said. Fokin looked suicidal, and Nob could tell that the dwarf had endured many, many hours of singing and was unable to take any more.
"Let's sing the one about meadows!" Vagísil exclaimed cheerfully. "I do love that song.
"Or." her brother added, in a tone which implied that he had just thought of the most wonderful thing. "We could ask our new companions to teach us one of their songs. Fokin taught us a most enlightening ditty. Sing it."
"No," Fokin said.
"Such an amusing fellow!" Vagísil gushed.
"I'd say he was rather queer, though," Anúsol added. "A thoroughly queer fellow, if you ask me."
"Dear brother, anyone who is not of our kin is somewhat queer to you. I suppose you think this Gonâd is queer, too."
"Exceedingly so. But I care not. My heart if full of gladness, and I feel like singing a gay song! O, what a gay, gay day!"
And so, they were five.
