A/N: Daaa~aaaaamn. I haven't updated since May 21. That's...a long time.
More than a month. It's...hang on, I can get this...34 days. Wow. Um,
I'm sorry. I had school stuff, like final exams and assignments and
whatnot, all getting in the way of more important things like writing a
quasi-parody for the Lord of the Rings. Anyone who's still with me really
deserves a cookie. I love you!
Disclaimers: Nothing is mine. The events of this story did not really happen. I hope.
Chapter 14: Up the Big Mountain ~ ~ ~
The climb up the mountain actually wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
Alright, alright. That might have had something to do with the fact that I wasn't actually climbing up the mountain myself, I was sorta hitching a ride around Frodo's neck. But y'know, things don't roll uphill, and I don't exactly have feet. Besides, you don't expect me to walk to my own death, do you? They at least have to carry me not-quite-kicking-and- screaming there. And I wasn't exactly traveling in comfort and luxury, either, dangling from his neck. Two words for you: hobbit sweat. I was at risk of rusting.
And I was at risk of early death, too, apparently, because Frodo decided to take a little tumble, almost going off the side of the mountain and taking me with him. He flopped a few times, mushing me into the snow, and then suddenly, the warmth of his cute li'l body was gone. Somehow, rolling around in the snow a lot resulted in unclasping the chain I was on, leaving me lying there in the cold, cold snow. Damn, it's cold. Okay, if I wasn't rusting before, I am now. Dang snow. Although, lying in the snow is preferable to lying in Boromir's hands, so---
Well, spoke too soon. Boromir picked me up and held me reeeeeeeeeeeal close to his ugly face. He murmured something, and let me tell you, the guy's breath? I'm willing to bet he can curdle milk just by breathing on it. And here I was, dangling like two centimetres away from his mouth, getting breathed on. If I'm not covered with rust, then it'll be mould. Disgusting. "So small a thing," he said to me. "Such a little thing."
Hey, watch yourself, bastard. I've involuntarily seen you naked before, and your 'thing' isn't all that big either, I said to him. He immediately got red in the face and started throwing choice insults at me, but I reminded him that he was the one chasing after me in the first place.
"Well, I don't know what I ever saw in you, because you're just a bitchy little ring. I bet you're not even real sterling and gold! You're just copper-plated zinc, painted gold!"
At least my breath doesn't smell like Gandalf's underwear!
"And you would know what Gandalf's underwear smells like, wouldn't you, you little slut?"
Yeah, fuck you. I'm a slut, but you were the one chasing after the slut, so what does that make you?
Boromir got really, really, *really* red in the face, and tried to hit me. Ha! Stupid fucker didn't know that it was nearly impossible to place a good hit on a ring. Being so close to his face, however, gave me a more than perfect opportunity to place several good hits.
"OW!!! My eye! Damned Ring!."
This little fight would've escalated to something really interesting, but since we were pressed for time, Aragorn decided the heroic thing to do would be to intervene.
"Boromir, just give the Ring back to Frodo, okay?"
Boromir tossed me to Frodo quickly, sneering, "Take it. And keep it the hell away from me. I don't want anything to do with it ever again."
Yeah, like I'm complaining. Frodo quickly fastened me around his neck. While he was doing that, I could see over his shoulder. I saw that Aragorn had put his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to whip out that big bad weapon of his. (wow, I sound like a porno) When I asked him about it, he replied with "I didn't trust him."
Aww...Aragorn, I didn't know you cared! You would lop off Boromir's arm for me? Oh wait, of course you would. Because that'd be the *manly* and *gallant* thing to do. And you wouldn't be doing it for me, either. I'd be an excuse for you to do it, so that you can ensure the horny bastard would never get a chance to grab your elf's ass. In fact, he's lucky you haven't ripped out his eyes for even daring to look at that fine elven ass that belongs to you and only you.
Aragorn smiled. "You know me so well."
Yeah, well. Been hanging out waaaaaaaaaay too much with you, I guess.
As we talked, we were getting closer and closer to the summit of the mountain. The air was getting nippier, and the snow was getting deeper. A lot deeper. As in, Gimli was having trouble breathing without snorting snowflakes up his nose. Aragorn thought it might be wise to pick up the hobbits before the fluffy white stuff swallowed them up. He grabbed Sam and Frodo, and Boromir the child molester grabbed Merry and Pippin. We went on, grunting and struggling through the deep, deep snow. Except Legolas, of course. Elves are super-light and graceful, and someone had made the mistake of giving Legolas coffee this morning, meaning he was super-light and graceful and hyper. He nanced around the surface of the snow happily, never breaking through and never falling, wiggling the famous ass we'd been talking about. I could hear Wet Strider swallowing audibly. Without even turning around to check, I could guess that his eyes were glued to Legolas's butt.
Gandalf and Gimli both seemed kind of bitter about the fact that Legolas could walk on top of the snow, while they had to wallow in it. Suckers! I'm being *carried*. Before I could really get on their nerves with my triumphant crowing, though, Legolas came flitting back with an announcement: "I hear voices!"
Uh...... Everyone blinked at him.
"No," he yelled over the sound of the whipping wind. "I mean a real voice! There is a fell voice on the air!"
Gandalf gasped loudly. "It's Saruman," he announced.
The rest of us listened closely, and soon we could pick up a voice, chanting some sort of spell noisily. Gandalf shouted a counter-spell. There was much yelling, and chunks of snow and rock began to fall on us.
"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled courageously. More snow fell down.
Dude, no he isn't. It's the yelling! *We're* causing an avalanche! But, as usual, no one deigned to listen to me. And guess what happened? An avalanche. Tonnes and tonnes of freezing cold snow dumped on us like bricks, and even Legolas, high on coffee, was buried.
This'll probably cause some rusting too.
~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC
Disclaimers: Nothing is mine. The events of this story did not really happen. I hope.
Chapter 14: Up the Big Mountain ~ ~ ~
The climb up the mountain actually wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
Alright, alright. That might have had something to do with the fact that I wasn't actually climbing up the mountain myself, I was sorta hitching a ride around Frodo's neck. But y'know, things don't roll uphill, and I don't exactly have feet. Besides, you don't expect me to walk to my own death, do you? They at least have to carry me not-quite-kicking-and- screaming there. And I wasn't exactly traveling in comfort and luxury, either, dangling from his neck. Two words for you: hobbit sweat. I was at risk of rusting.
And I was at risk of early death, too, apparently, because Frodo decided to take a little tumble, almost going off the side of the mountain and taking me with him. He flopped a few times, mushing me into the snow, and then suddenly, the warmth of his cute li'l body was gone. Somehow, rolling around in the snow a lot resulted in unclasping the chain I was on, leaving me lying there in the cold, cold snow. Damn, it's cold. Okay, if I wasn't rusting before, I am now. Dang snow. Although, lying in the snow is preferable to lying in Boromir's hands, so---
Well, spoke too soon. Boromir picked me up and held me reeeeeeeeeeeal close to his ugly face. He murmured something, and let me tell you, the guy's breath? I'm willing to bet he can curdle milk just by breathing on it. And here I was, dangling like two centimetres away from his mouth, getting breathed on. If I'm not covered with rust, then it'll be mould. Disgusting. "So small a thing," he said to me. "Such a little thing."
Hey, watch yourself, bastard. I've involuntarily seen you naked before, and your 'thing' isn't all that big either, I said to him. He immediately got red in the face and started throwing choice insults at me, but I reminded him that he was the one chasing after me in the first place.
"Well, I don't know what I ever saw in you, because you're just a bitchy little ring. I bet you're not even real sterling and gold! You're just copper-plated zinc, painted gold!"
At least my breath doesn't smell like Gandalf's underwear!
"And you would know what Gandalf's underwear smells like, wouldn't you, you little slut?"
Yeah, fuck you. I'm a slut, but you were the one chasing after the slut, so what does that make you?
Boromir got really, really, *really* red in the face, and tried to hit me. Ha! Stupid fucker didn't know that it was nearly impossible to place a good hit on a ring. Being so close to his face, however, gave me a more than perfect opportunity to place several good hits.
"OW!!! My eye! Damned Ring!."
This little fight would've escalated to something really interesting, but since we were pressed for time, Aragorn decided the heroic thing to do would be to intervene.
"Boromir, just give the Ring back to Frodo, okay?"
Boromir tossed me to Frodo quickly, sneering, "Take it. And keep it the hell away from me. I don't want anything to do with it ever again."
Yeah, like I'm complaining. Frodo quickly fastened me around his neck. While he was doing that, I could see over his shoulder. I saw that Aragorn had put his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to whip out that big bad weapon of his. (wow, I sound like a porno) When I asked him about it, he replied with "I didn't trust him."
Aww...Aragorn, I didn't know you cared! You would lop off Boromir's arm for me? Oh wait, of course you would. Because that'd be the *manly* and *gallant* thing to do. And you wouldn't be doing it for me, either. I'd be an excuse for you to do it, so that you can ensure the horny bastard would never get a chance to grab your elf's ass. In fact, he's lucky you haven't ripped out his eyes for even daring to look at that fine elven ass that belongs to you and only you.
Aragorn smiled. "You know me so well."
Yeah, well. Been hanging out waaaaaaaaaay too much with you, I guess.
As we talked, we were getting closer and closer to the summit of the mountain. The air was getting nippier, and the snow was getting deeper. A lot deeper. As in, Gimli was having trouble breathing without snorting snowflakes up his nose. Aragorn thought it might be wise to pick up the hobbits before the fluffy white stuff swallowed them up. He grabbed Sam and Frodo, and Boromir the child molester grabbed Merry and Pippin. We went on, grunting and struggling through the deep, deep snow. Except Legolas, of course. Elves are super-light and graceful, and someone had made the mistake of giving Legolas coffee this morning, meaning he was super-light and graceful and hyper. He nanced around the surface of the snow happily, never breaking through and never falling, wiggling the famous ass we'd been talking about. I could hear Wet Strider swallowing audibly. Without even turning around to check, I could guess that his eyes were glued to Legolas's butt.
Gandalf and Gimli both seemed kind of bitter about the fact that Legolas could walk on top of the snow, while they had to wallow in it. Suckers! I'm being *carried*. Before I could really get on their nerves with my triumphant crowing, though, Legolas came flitting back with an announcement: "I hear voices!"
Uh...... Everyone blinked at him.
"No," he yelled over the sound of the whipping wind. "I mean a real voice! There is a fell voice on the air!"
Gandalf gasped loudly. "It's Saruman," he announced.
The rest of us listened closely, and soon we could pick up a voice, chanting some sort of spell noisily. Gandalf shouted a counter-spell. There was much yelling, and chunks of snow and rock began to fall on us.
"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled courageously. More snow fell down.
Dude, no he isn't. It's the yelling! *We're* causing an avalanche! But, as usual, no one deigned to listen to me. And guess what happened? An avalanche. Tonnes and tonnes of freezing cold snow dumped on us like bricks, and even Legolas, high on coffee, was buried.
This'll probably cause some rusting too.
~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC