Disclaimer: I do not own Middle-Earth. It belongs to J.R.R.
Tolkien. However, I own pretty much every character in this story...
Author's Note:
Let's see... all right. If there are no Canon characters in this story, therefore meaning a lot less Canon rules to defy (but still a lot, anyway) and if nearly all the remaining characters act like idiots ::twitches in the urge to go run into a wall:: is it still possible for this to be a Mary-Sue? Good gracious, of course it is! But of course I'm going ot do my best to keep away from that.
I know there may be some parts in the plot that's going to stab readers and twist the knife, but at the moment, I'll just be there to call the ambulance, and that's all. Got it? Don't care how many flames I get, but this is just the way the plot has to go. Now, why am I telling you this at the beginning of the story? Well, after this first chapter, the plot may become obvious! ::keels over::
Ready? all right! Tally-ho! MASS EXODUS TO THE CONTENT!
~Naheka
Wind and Fire
Chapter 1: Stupid Door...
Of all the things that could make this hellish journey even worse than it already was, it was the fierce blizzard that had apparently decided to hit the weary traveler in the peak of the freezing twilight, just to annoy him. Unfortunately, the blizzard had practically formed its own natural lock on the door handle, barring the entrance to the inn. "Stupid door," thought the traveler, gripping the handle with both hands despite the jaws of ice that gnawed at his fingers. "Is it really too much to walk into a room and pay a few pieces to keep away from the night? Stupid door..."
A blast of wind came and his feet gave away. He tripped and slid on the porch and collided with a mound of snow piled in the corner. "Well," grunted the traveler inwardly, "I could just smash the window open... but that will be too suspicious." He lay there for several moments, letting the sky shower his worn limbs with frozen tears and sighs. Indeed, the sky was dark and cold, but a bright red sign, caked in frost, caught his eye. He couldn't read the large letters engraved into its battered wooden surface, but he could see a few numbers written at the very bottom:
5:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m.
It had to be at least 3:00 in the morning by now. Wonderful. He had two, long hours to come up with a brilliant plan to get himself out of the storm. Right under the sign, in the middle of the blizzard.
"But then again, this isn't really the best place to plot."
~*~
"Checkmate."
The young woman groaned and let her head droop depressingly to her slender shoulders. "For the eighth time this night!" she cried, knocking the black, cedar wood king to face the cold marble of the chess board. The king tilted and knocked a pawn over. Exasperated, she looked up at her co-waiter of the Red Ivy with a glare of remorse. "Will I ever be able to beat anyone at this game?"
"After what was actually nine severe losses," the waiter replied nonchalantly, "nine losses to a boy that's six years younger than you... no, you will never be able to beat someone at the highly intelligent game of chess*." She watched the boy scoop up the chess pieces and sweep them back into a leather sack.
"For such a young lad, mister Gladseed," chuckled the bar tender, wiping an empty glass clean, "you're rather arrogant."
"I'll be running this bar, someday," said the boy airily, "and I'll make a better place of it, at that!" He took a left through the private dining chamber and across the hall. "Good night, all."
The woman just stuck her tongue out after him. "Now, now, Narcissus," scolded the bartender, "we don't mean to be nasty to anyone--"
"Stop calling me that," snapped Narcissus, putting her head down on the table. "That's not my name."
The bartender raised his eyebrows. "Then what be your name?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. But I don't really feel like a 'Narcissus'. I'm not even sure if that name is from this world!"
Chortling, the bar tender tossed his rag into the tub, and took his apron off, placing it beside his cloak on the coat rack near the fire side. He found it amusing that he had lost count of how many times she had whined in the evening. Lost track after thrity-four... "Well I'm sorry, my dear NoName, but that's just the name that you were given." Narcissus frowned and slumped further into her chair. "Oh, now don't pout again." He slipped his cloak on and headed out of the bar and toward the exiting archway. "You don't get anywhere good being sour. So, you have a good night, miss. I'll see you in a few days."
As the wooden doors shut, Narcissus groaned and got up to tend to the fireplace. "Blasted kids and bar tenders," she thought darkly to herself. "Why does he get a holiday and leave me with the brat? And people call this a job? Good job my arse."
"Narcissus! Get over here! Quick!"
Narcissus looked up. The bar tender had re-entered the building, but staggering slowly. Scampering over to meet him, she asked, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She skidded to a halt as she spotted him carrying a dark, limp figure into the building. "Who..." She shook her head and helped the hooded stranger into a chair. "Where did you find him?" she said to the bar tender.
"Outside in the snow," he replied quickly, rushing behind the bar to retrieve, "Some warm whiskey might get him up again. Here." He handed the dark, rectangular glass bottle to Narcissus, who hurriedly unscrewed the cap and began to tip it down the stranger's throat. "Not too much, now. We don't want to risk him--" Suddenly, the figure started choking, coughing out half of the liquid he drank. "...spitting it all out..."
As the bar tender wiped his face with a handkerchief from his vest pocket, the stranger roused into a rude awakening. Seeing the portly, balding man in front of him, and the little woman standing beside him, he tilted his head, his eyes slowly easing open, but barely. He muttered something under his breath, but neither employees of the Red Ivy could quite make out what he had said.
"Pardon, sir," said the bar tender gravely, "but.. er.."
"What in all the bloody Hells** did you give me?" sputtered the man, wiping the whiskey from his mouth. "Hot liquor? You could've killed me!" And with that, he fainted in his seat, eventually toppling off the chair and onto the wooden floor.
Sighing, the bar tender helped the man up, and began to drag him along. "We'll let him rest in the parlor for now," he grunted, pausing to let Narcissus open the parlor door. "You get a lot of strange people at night. They get stranger every week."
The unconscious-one was left on a clean rug beside the burning fireplace. Shaking the man's shoulder, the bar tender shook his head and got up to exit the parlor. "I'll be back. Watch him, now." Narcissus frowned. "I'll come running if he decides to attack. He looks cold. Probably from the snow outside." Narcissus crouched low by his side, peering into that darkened hood of his, wondering if he was some sort of monster that was subject to alcohol. Maybe he was a monster; or a hybrid of some sort. Either that, or he was a man with a discombobulated diet.
"He'll need to breathe, eh?" said the bar tender as he entered the parlor, carrying a copper pot, full of warm water, and a mug. "Take that hood off o' him. He'll warm up sooner or later."
With a cautious prod, she flipped his hood off his face. Her eyes widened with a sudden interest in him. Presently, his skin was unpleasantly dun from the cold. Raven black hair spread over his half-dead expression, long and surpassing his shoulders, most of the length tucked beneath his cloak. "Don't stare at him," reprimanded the bar tender. Narcissus' eyes immediately averted away from the stranger. "A bit rude, there. Now..."
He ducked down beside the man on the ground and poured a small amour of water into the mug. "Stand back, missy." Narcissus restrained a laugh at the mental image of this guest spewing out the water again, perhaps drenching the bar tender and putting out the fire. She crawled up on a stool by the fireside as the water was slowly tipped down the man's throat, again.
The bar tender seemed relieved to be liberated from being subject to sudden... spittings. Narcissus watched intently as his eyes slowly eased open, revealing two, dark orbs, full of a sort of shadowed, dead substance. Whatever it was, she assumed that it represented his life.
"Good evenin', sire, and welcome to The Red Ivy Inn," said the bar tender cheerily, pushing the man up into a sitting position. "Pardon my sudden inquisitions, but what were you doing out on the front porch so late at night during the winter and in the snow, below the window?"
The man shuddered and spoke nothing, staring at the bar tender as if he thought he were a madman.
"Do you have a name we can call you by?"
He only shuddered again and muttered something under his breath.
"Excuse me?"
Narcissus sat up. "He said something like 'Roni'."
The bar tender smiled. "Roni? That'd be your name?" The man only turned his cheek sharply at him, a glare forming on his face.
The bar tender chortled and rose to his feet. "Naw. That's all right. We'll hook you up with a room for the night, weary traveler, and we'll talk in the morning. How's that for taste?"
Shuddering again, 'Roni' just grunted and reached into his thick, black coat, pulling out a small leather pouch. From within it, he withdrew five silver coins. He handed it up to the bar tender. "Oh!" He waddled back and took four of the coins. "Nearly forgot that part." He snapped his fingers. "Narcissus," Narcissus looked up with her widened eyes, "show this man to one of our best rooms."
She scrambled off her chair. "Aye." Standing up straight she smiled at 'Roni' and slowly began to walk out of the parlor. "Just follow me, sir." Taking a left out the doorway, she headed up a flight of stairs and down a corridor, occasionally checking to see if the queer guest was still following. He was, but she could tell that he was sure to keep an even distance.
At the near end of the corridor, she stopped at a door, unhooked a ring of keys from her belt, and unlocked it, revealing a pitch-black room, save the very faint light of moonlight through curtains at a window in the corner. Quickly lighting a candle, she stepped out of the room to let him in. "I'm sorry, this isn't really one of our best rooms, but it's of our most decent. Our bar tender says its all part of the advertising." She grinned at him, but 'Roni' only glared back at her. "Erm... goodnight."
Wham!
That was the only cue 'Roni' needed to slam the door shut in her face. She shook her head and strode quickly away from the scene, but soon after, she heard a slight thud against the door. Shaking her head again, she continued down the hall.
The bar tender was right. The guests do get stranger every week.
*Chess - Do they have chess in Middle-Earth? I don't know. Does anyone know?
** Hells - Yes, I am familiar with Arda's theology. I don't recall reading about multiple Hells for Men. However, I can't explain this little bugger right now. Just wait.
Like? Hate? Flame? I like Flame! Call this a parody if you want; I'd probably agree with you. Creative Critique valued above all. But if you decide to send a review, please do me a favor: don't lie to me. Thanks.
Author's Note:
Let's see... all right. If there are no Canon characters in this story, therefore meaning a lot less Canon rules to defy (but still a lot, anyway) and if nearly all the remaining characters act like idiots ::twitches in the urge to go run into a wall:: is it still possible for this to be a Mary-Sue? Good gracious, of course it is! But of course I'm going ot do my best to keep away from that.
I know there may be some parts in the plot that's going to stab readers and twist the knife, but at the moment, I'll just be there to call the ambulance, and that's all. Got it? Don't care how many flames I get, but this is just the way the plot has to go. Now, why am I telling you this at the beginning of the story? Well, after this first chapter, the plot may become obvious! ::keels over::
Ready? all right! Tally-ho! MASS EXODUS TO THE CONTENT!
~Naheka
Wind and Fire
Chapter 1: Stupid Door...
Of all the things that could make this hellish journey even worse than it already was, it was the fierce blizzard that had apparently decided to hit the weary traveler in the peak of the freezing twilight, just to annoy him. Unfortunately, the blizzard had practically formed its own natural lock on the door handle, barring the entrance to the inn. "Stupid door," thought the traveler, gripping the handle with both hands despite the jaws of ice that gnawed at his fingers. "Is it really too much to walk into a room and pay a few pieces to keep away from the night? Stupid door..."
A blast of wind came and his feet gave away. He tripped and slid on the porch and collided with a mound of snow piled in the corner. "Well," grunted the traveler inwardly, "I could just smash the window open... but that will be too suspicious." He lay there for several moments, letting the sky shower his worn limbs with frozen tears and sighs. Indeed, the sky was dark and cold, but a bright red sign, caked in frost, caught his eye. He couldn't read the large letters engraved into its battered wooden surface, but he could see a few numbers written at the very bottom:
5:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m.
It had to be at least 3:00 in the morning by now. Wonderful. He had two, long hours to come up with a brilliant plan to get himself out of the storm. Right under the sign, in the middle of the blizzard.
"But then again, this isn't really the best place to plot."
~*~
"Checkmate."
The young woman groaned and let her head droop depressingly to her slender shoulders. "For the eighth time this night!" she cried, knocking the black, cedar wood king to face the cold marble of the chess board. The king tilted and knocked a pawn over. Exasperated, she looked up at her co-waiter of the Red Ivy with a glare of remorse. "Will I ever be able to beat anyone at this game?"
"After what was actually nine severe losses," the waiter replied nonchalantly, "nine losses to a boy that's six years younger than you... no, you will never be able to beat someone at the highly intelligent game of chess*." She watched the boy scoop up the chess pieces and sweep them back into a leather sack.
"For such a young lad, mister Gladseed," chuckled the bar tender, wiping an empty glass clean, "you're rather arrogant."
"I'll be running this bar, someday," said the boy airily, "and I'll make a better place of it, at that!" He took a left through the private dining chamber and across the hall. "Good night, all."
The woman just stuck her tongue out after him. "Now, now, Narcissus," scolded the bartender, "we don't mean to be nasty to anyone--"
"Stop calling me that," snapped Narcissus, putting her head down on the table. "That's not my name."
The bartender raised his eyebrows. "Then what be your name?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. But I don't really feel like a 'Narcissus'. I'm not even sure if that name is from this world!"
Chortling, the bar tender tossed his rag into the tub, and took his apron off, placing it beside his cloak on the coat rack near the fire side. He found it amusing that he had lost count of how many times she had whined in the evening. Lost track after thrity-four... "Well I'm sorry, my dear NoName, but that's just the name that you were given." Narcissus frowned and slumped further into her chair. "Oh, now don't pout again." He slipped his cloak on and headed out of the bar and toward the exiting archway. "You don't get anywhere good being sour. So, you have a good night, miss. I'll see you in a few days."
As the wooden doors shut, Narcissus groaned and got up to tend to the fireplace. "Blasted kids and bar tenders," she thought darkly to herself. "Why does he get a holiday and leave me with the brat? And people call this a job? Good job my arse."
"Narcissus! Get over here! Quick!"
Narcissus looked up. The bar tender had re-entered the building, but staggering slowly. Scampering over to meet him, she asked, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She skidded to a halt as she spotted him carrying a dark, limp figure into the building. "Who..." She shook her head and helped the hooded stranger into a chair. "Where did you find him?" she said to the bar tender.
"Outside in the snow," he replied quickly, rushing behind the bar to retrieve, "Some warm whiskey might get him up again. Here." He handed the dark, rectangular glass bottle to Narcissus, who hurriedly unscrewed the cap and began to tip it down the stranger's throat. "Not too much, now. We don't want to risk him--" Suddenly, the figure started choking, coughing out half of the liquid he drank. "...spitting it all out..."
As the bar tender wiped his face with a handkerchief from his vest pocket, the stranger roused into a rude awakening. Seeing the portly, balding man in front of him, and the little woman standing beside him, he tilted his head, his eyes slowly easing open, but barely. He muttered something under his breath, but neither employees of the Red Ivy could quite make out what he had said.
"Pardon, sir," said the bar tender gravely, "but.. er.."
"What in all the bloody Hells** did you give me?" sputtered the man, wiping the whiskey from his mouth. "Hot liquor? You could've killed me!" And with that, he fainted in his seat, eventually toppling off the chair and onto the wooden floor.
Sighing, the bar tender helped the man up, and began to drag him along. "We'll let him rest in the parlor for now," he grunted, pausing to let Narcissus open the parlor door. "You get a lot of strange people at night. They get stranger every week."
The unconscious-one was left on a clean rug beside the burning fireplace. Shaking the man's shoulder, the bar tender shook his head and got up to exit the parlor. "I'll be back. Watch him, now." Narcissus frowned. "I'll come running if he decides to attack. He looks cold. Probably from the snow outside." Narcissus crouched low by his side, peering into that darkened hood of his, wondering if he was some sort of monster that was subject to alcohol. Maybe he was a monster; or a hybrid of some sort. Either that, or he was a man with a discombobulated diet.
"He'll need to breathe, eh?" said the bar tender as he entered the parlor, carrying a copper pot, full of warm water, and a mug. "Take that hood off o' him. He'll warm up sooner or later."
With a cautious prod, she flipped his hood off his face. Her eyes widened with a sudden interest in him. Presently, his skin was unpleasantly dun from the cold. Raven black hair spread over his half-dead expression, long and surpassing his shoulders, most of the length tucked beneath his cloak. "Don't stare at him," reprimanded the bar tender. Narcissus' eyes immediately averted away from the stranger. "A bit rude, there. Now..."
He ducked down beside the man on the ground and poured a small amour of water into the mug. "Stand back, missy." Narcissus restrained a laugh at the mental image of this guest spewing out the water again, perhaps drenching the bar tender and putting out the fire. She crawled up on a stool by the fireside as the water was slowly tipped down the man's throat, again.
The bar tender seemed relieved to be liberated from being subject to sudden... spittings. Narcissus watched intently as his eyes slowly eased open, revealing two, dark orbs, full of a sort of shadowed, dead substance. Whatever it was, she assumed that it represented his life.
"Good evenin', sire, and welcome to The Red Ivy Inn," said the bar tender cheerily, pushing the man up into a sitting position. "Pardon my sudden inquisitions, but what were you doing out on the front porch so late at night during the winter and in the snow, below the window?"
The man shuddered and spoke nothing, staring at the bar tender as if he thought he were a madman.
"Do you have a name we can call you by?"
He only shuddered again and muttered something under his breath.
"Excuse me?"
Narcissus sat up. "He said something like 'Roni'."
The bar tender smiled. "Roni? That'd be your name?" The man only turned his cheek sharply at him, a glare forming on his face.
The bar tender chortled and rose to his feet. "Naw. That's all right. We'll hook you up with a room for the night, weary traveler, and we'll talk in the morning. How's that for taste?"
Shuddering again, 'Roni' just grunted and reached into his thick, black coat, pulling out a small leather pouch. From within it, he withdrew five silver coins. He handed it up to the bar tender. "Oh!" He waddled back and took four of the coins. "Nearly forgot that part." He snapped his fingers. "Narcissus," Narcissus looked up with her widened eyes, "show this man to one of our best rooms."
She scrambled off her chair. "Aye." Standing up straight she smiled at 'Roni' and slowly began to walk out of the parlor. "Just follow me, sir." Taking a left out the doorway, she headed up a flight of stairs and down a corridor, occasionally checking to see if the queer guest was still following. He was, but she could tell that he was sure to keep an even distance.
At the near end of the corridor, she stopped at a door, unhooked a ring of keys from her belt, and unlocked it, revealing a pitch-black room, save the very faint light of moonlight through curtains at a window in the corner. Quickly lighting a candle, she stepped out of the room to let him in. "I'm sorry, this isn't really one of our best rooms, but it's of our most decent. Our bar tender says its all part of the advertising." She grinned at him, but 'Roni' only glared back at her. "Erm... goodnight."
Wham!
That was the only cue 'Roni' needed to slam the door shut in her face. She shook her head and strode quickly away from the scene, but soon after, she heard a slight thud against the door. Shaking her head again, she continued down the hall.
The bar tender was right. The guests do get stranger every week.
*Chess - Do they have chess in Middle-Earth? I don't know. Does anyone know?
** Hells - Yes, I am familiar with Arda's theology. I don't recall reading about multiple Hells for Men. However, I can't explain this little bugger right now. Just wait.
Like? Hate? Flame? I like Flame! Call this a parody if you want; I'd probably agree with you. Creative Critique valued above all. But if you decide to send a review, please do me a favor: don't lie to me. Thanks.