I haven't updated this for a very, very long time, mostly because I haven't
felt any real need to kill my characters. And yes, I own Middle-Earth. It's
one of those wonderful things that make me Tigger. If you've never heard of
Tigger... your parents need more kids. I don't feel any particular need to
kill characters _now,_ either... but I want to write. And I'm sick of
poetry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the morning, Gandalf rose from the workbench he had draped his long frame over, and stretched painfully. The fire in the grate had worn out some hours ago, and he had not wanted to risk magic in the quiet hours of the morning, when Sauron and his minions were watching so closely for a slip.
Anaheit slept the sleep of the dead in her room. A small, gray-striped cat was curled next to her left wrist, stirring uneasily as the pre-dawn stillness wore into dawn.
Through a window in the lower part of the castle, cheerful birdsong intruded on the disturbed thoughts of two humans (do either of them count as human?) and one small animal. Gandalf made his way unwillingly to the kitchen, the scent of dried blood wafting to him from across the dining room. One thing was certain; he would not be making eggs this morning, unless he used his own.
(A/N: If you got that, don't tell me that I'm exaggerating size. Wizards can do anything they want, right?)
Anaheit woke up slowly, unspeakably sore. The events of the last night returned to her, and she fought down the wave of shame that always tended to make her irritable. She was still dressed in everything from her boots up; she fought down a feeling of disappointment before it could add to her burden of ill regret.
Gandalf looked around the remains of his bloodied and slightly disheveled kitchen, and sighed. What he wouldn't give for a house elf right about now. Well, there was nothing to be done; he headed for the pantry in the back (the bloodstains were lighter there) and went looking for edibles that could be eaten without silverware.
Outdoors, the sun had just topped the horizon and the mountains were beginning to glow with the aura of a pleasant summer day. Which is actually pretty strange, as it wasn't really summer. But whatever.
Gandalf had tied the foodstuffs into a bundle and fastened it to the mostly- for-show tack on Shadowsbane. "Shadow, why do you not like that..." he had to search for an appropriate word. "...that..."
Shadowsbane snorted. *Exactly. What _are_ you going to call her?*
The old wizard simply sighed. "I will be needed at the battle, old friend. If I cannot get her to safety in time, you may have to tolerate her."
*I do nothing against my nature. She will not mount me.*
(A/N: Phrasing intentional.)
The wizard blinked. "My god. That _does_ shed a new light on the matter."
~*~
Back to the bedroom.
Anaheit attempted to stretch the soreness out of her muscles, but merely succeeded in putting herself into mortal pain and startling the cat with one of the most heartfelt groans the poor thing had ever heard from a human throat.
"Oh, Legolas, come save me."
~*~
She had wandered out to the stableyard, not knowing exactly where her feet were leading her. When she saw Shadowsbane, she retreated back into the bushes, knowing exactly how little protection they offered her.
"Come, girl." Somewhere he had found (or made) a beast for her. "Mordor awaits, and the Last Battle. I dare not be late."
Apparently he had found a spell to resist her charms. Thank the lord; she _did_ want to do this honestly, after all. She practically flew up to her saddle. For some reason, her horse mewed. She shook her head after a second. It was none of her bunnies what the wizard wanted to do with horses, for one to learn that sound. *Ugh. I want my Aragorn.*
~*~
Many days of riding later...
~*~
"Halt! In the name of Rohan!"
Gandalf nearly cried with relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm too tired to kill them all today.
I know that this one wasn't too good, but if I get, say, seven more reviews then I'll do more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the morning, Gandalf rose from the workbench he had draped his long frame over, and stretched painfully. The fire in the grate had worn out some hours ago, and he had not wanted to risk magic in the quiet hours of the morning, when Sauron and his minions were watching so closely for a slip.
Anaheit slept the sleep of the dead in her room. A small, gray-striped cat was curled next to her left wrist, stirring uneasily as the pre-dawn stillness wore into dawn.
Through a window in the lower part of the castle, cheerful birdsong intruded on the disturbed thoughts of two humans (do either of them count as human?) and one small animal. Gandalf made his way unwillingly to the kitchen, the scent of dried blood wafting to him from across the dining room. One thing was certain; he would not be making eggs this morning, unless he used his own.
(A/N: If you got that, don't tell me that I'm exaggerating size. Wizards can do anything they want, right?)
Anaheit woke up slowly, unspeakably sore. The events of the last night returned to her, and she fought down the wave of shame that always tended to make her irritable. She was still dressed in everything from her boots up; she fought down a feeling of disappointment before it could add to her burden of ill regret.
Gandalf looked around the remains of his bloodied and slightly disheveled kitchen, and sighed. What he wouldn't give for a house elf right about now. Well, there was nothing to be done; he headed for the pantry in the back (the bloodstains were lighter there) and went looking for edibles that could be eaten without silverware.
Outdoors, the sun had just topped the horizon and the mountains were beginning to glow with the aura of a pleasant summer day. Which is actually pretty strange, as it wasn't really summer. But whatever.
Gandalf had tied the foodstuffs into a bundle and fastened it to the mostly- for-show tack on Shadowsbane. "Shadow, why do you not like that..." he had to search for an appropriate word. "...that..."
Shadowsbane snorted. *Exactly. What _are_ you going to call her?*
The old wizard simply sighed. "I will be needed at the battle, old friend. If I cannot get her to safety in time, you may have to tolerate her."
*I do nothing against my nature. She will not mount me.*
(A/N: Phrasing intentional.)
The wizard blinked. "My god. That _does_ shed a new light on the matter."
~*~
Back to the bedroom.
Anaheit attempted to stretch the soreness out of her muscles, but merely succeeded in putting herself into mortal pain and startling the cat with one of the most heartfelt groans the poor thing had ever heard from a human throat.
"Oh, Legolas, come save me."
~*~
She had wandered out to the stableyard, not knowing exactly where her feet were leading her. When she saw Shadowsbane, she retreated back into the bushes, knowing exactly how little protection they offered her.
"Come, girl." Somewhere he had found (or made) a beast for her. "Mordor awaits, and the Last Battle. I dare not be late."
Apparently he had found a spell to resist her charms. Thank the lord; she _did_ want to do this honestly, after all. She practically flew up to her saddle. For some reason, her horse mewed. She shook her head after a second. It was none of her bunnies what the wizard wanted to do with horses, for one to learn that sound. *Ugh. I want my Aragorn.*
~*~
Many days of riding later...
~*~
"Halt! In the name of Rohan!"
Gandalf nearly cried with relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm too tired to kill them all today.
I know that this one wasn't too good, but if I get, say, seven more reviews then I'll do more.