A/N: Hello, everyone. Yours truly is back safe and sound from Hong Kong.
And, a cause for celebration! I am, as some of you kindly pointed out,
over 100 reviews!!! Go me! I would individually thank each and every one
of you who made this possible, but my author's notes have been getting
longer and longer. So, to switch things up a bit, we'll have a long-ass
disclaimer instead.
Disclaimers: I do not own any characters or events. Unless it's really clear I made up the events. Those, I do own. But other than that, no, I do not own the events. In other words, the events that aren't mine are not mine. And conversely, the events that are actually mine are, in fact, mine. Also, I do not make money off of my fics. I don't plan on making money off of my fics. I doubt I *can* make money off of my fics. I doubt anyone would buy my fics. I wouldn't even buy my fics. All those Big Corporate People that LOTR belongs to have the power to make money. I do not. I repeat: I do NOT make money. I make no money. You are getting sleepy. You shall not sue me. Nooneshallsueme. I am harmless. I'm a harmless little angel. ::angelic smile::
Chapter 17: A Long Underground Walk ~ ~ ~
We ran straight into the dark, freaky-deaky mines. It was the only way to go, and the squid tried to follow. Fortunately, the entrance was too small for the slimy wanker to fit through. Unfortunately, the squid ignored that fact and tried to stuff itself in regardless. The stone supports of the entrance collapsed, leaving us trapped in total darkness.
Something was definitely not right with the mines. Seriously. I could feel it in my...um, ring-bones. Yeah. Uh, anyhow, steering you back to the point. There was something horribly wrong here. Gandalf struck one of his 90watt magic wizard lamps, guaranteed to last 500 hours, with new floral scents (plug it in, plug it in). As the gloom was penetrated by the soothing glow of soft wizard light, we began to find out just why the mines felt so wrong.
"Aragorn..." Legolas's trembling voice floated above the shocked silence. "Is that...a..."
"Yes, that is a rotting skull with a sharp dagger through it," Boromir said sensitively. The place was covered with dead bodies, already skeletons, with weaponry sticking out of various orifices, like the one Boromir so kindly pointed out. Legolas whimpered. Aragorn growled, looking like he'd also like to put a dagger through a certain (coughBoromir'scoughcough) skull. He wrapped an arm around Legolas's willowy shoulders and took him off a little ways away from the group to whisper comforting (and no doubt pornographic) sweet nothings into his ear.
"You're comforting *him*?!?!?!?!" Gimli roared. "He needs no comfort!!! I'm the one whose relatives all DIED!!!!! What about me?!"
By then, Legolas was already too busy making out with Aragorn in a secluded corner to be bothered to make snarky comment at Gimli's outburst. Seeing as how the elf was the only who had been even remotely civil to me, I decided to do him a favour and make a snarky comment for him.
"My cousins! My kin! My woman love-dwarves!!!" Gimli sobbed.
So we're a few dwarves short of a full-out drunken orgy. Boo hoo. You smell bad enough to make up for all of them.
"You evil Ring! How dare you!" Gimli gasped. "We would have provided food and hospitality! And good loving!"
Yeah. Good thing they died, then. No part of this finely polished body will be manhandled by chunky dwarf hands, thankyouverymuch.
"I second that," Legolas managed to say from his corner, amid the passionate moans.
Boromir made an assenting noise. I didn't point out the fact that he had no fine body to worry for. After all, it was the spirit that counted. And, y'know, this was the one and only time I agreed with the position he was lobbying for.
Gandalf frowned at all of us. "You guys fail to see the bigger picture!" he said. "Someone must have killed all these dwarves."
No, really? And I always thought swords and arrows were natural causes of death. Gandalf, of course, ignored me and continued.
"Someone killed them, and that someone could still be here, waiting for their next victim," he said ominously.
"Well, we can't go back out there! That monster will attack Mr. Frodo again!" Sam cried, taking advantage of the moment and sidling up to Frodo, sneaking his arm around his waist. Frodo knocked it off irritably. Attempting to put himself back in his good graces, Sam stuck out his chest heroically and announced, "I will not let us go back there. I will not let Mr. Frodo come to harm!"
Yeah, there's that. There's also the fact that giant boulders are completely blocking our way out. The only way is to go forward. Or, we could all just sit here among the decomposing corpses. Whatever tickles your fancy.
"I vote we find a different way out," Aragorn said in a manly manner, arranging his clothes and straightening his scabbard.
"No. I think we should move forward," Legolas said, coming back looking as impeccable as ever. He eyed a skeleton nervously. "The pall of death puts me ill at ease."
"Well then it's settled. We'll move forward," the very whipped Ranger said.
The rest of us shrugged, not really caring either way. Both spelled trouble and doom anyway.
We moved on past the entrance and went deeper into the mine-turned-tomb. Everyone walked in silence. Almost. Merry and Pippin were skipping around giggling, but aside from that, we were quiet. Is it bad that I've gotten so used to seeing two hobbits doing their best impressions of rabbits with ADD that I think it's normal? Yeah, I think so.
Gandalf would not stop obsessing about who killed all the dwarves. I personally wasn't too worried about it. I mean, if I saw us from a mile away, I'd run like hell. Even fearless dwarf-killers would implode from a billion migraines if forced to hang around us for too long. Besides, anyone who kills a bunch of dwarves can't be all that bad. And I wouldn't exactly complain if Gimli ended up dead. And took Boromir, Sam, and especially Pippin and Merry with him. In fact, if I could, I'd do it myself. Gandalf politely told me to shut the fuck up.
But I just think that---
Gandalf then proceeded to politely tell me just where I could stick my thoughts. Frodo moved us off closer to the back of the group, probably worried that Gandalf would attack me, and by association his neck.
At the back, Boromir was propositioning Pippin and Merry again, coming onto them like the horny child-molester he was. Also at the back were the multi- named wet guy and his beloved bed blankie, joined at the hip as usual. The curious thing about Legolas (y'know, aside from all the other curious things about Legolas) was his immense love of arrows. Every time he passed by a dead body, he would shudder and cling onto his very obliging boyfriend. Unless, I noticed, the dead body happened to get to be a dead body because of an arrow or two. Then, he'd stop in delight to examine the arrow(s).
"See, this one here is a SmoothFlight 3420, a very streamlined model. It possesses excellent speed, but is not nearly as steady as the gilded Cerberon XE we saw back near that big pile of carcasses. Now, that one, the one in the ribs of the dwarf near Boromir's left foot? It is of an old- fashioned make, by the skilled Montgolfier. One can tell because Montgolfier always attached an extra little red feather onto his arrows. I am not very familiar with the older types, but it is said by many that the craftsmanship of this particular model is quite exquisite."
...Um. Yes.
I had to give Aragorn due. The guy was a billion times better than I was at acting interested. You could tell he wasn't really, since he rolled his eyes whenever Legolas was looking the other way. However, he still actually *listened* to the boring shit the elf was spewing. He actually had questions and comments to offer, like "What about the notch on this one? It doesn't look as even as the others."
Damn. I hate to say it, but Aragorn makes a pretty decent boyfriend. That is, if you don't mind the perpetually wet hair, the rather annoying rugged heroic manly thing, and the ever-present willingness to fuck you into the bed (or the floor, or the wall, or a chair, or the counter, or the ground...whichever is nearest.) Oh. And the whole deal with the irritating elf princess who's always following him, hell-bent on making him marry her. There's that, too. Y'know, Legolas actually puts up with a hell of a lot more than I usually give him credit for.
On we walked, for a very, very, very long time. There was no way of telling night from day, so we just slept when we felt like it. Chances are, this majorly fucked up our internal clocks. It would have been fine, though, except for one tiny flaw. See, *some people* (those two damn hobbits, and our resident lovebirds) never slept, while *some other people* (GIMLI, and Sam) would sleep all the time if left to their own devices. Somehow, we still managed to keep moving forward. Which doesn't actually mean anything, considering we were getting nowhere. I had an inkling that we were lost. Perhaps I should ask the supposedly wise and venerable wizard just what the hell we're doing, wandering around in the dark like little disoriented moles.
Gandalf, are we lost?
The old man we were following with blind abandon (what are we, a cult?) turned towards me. (Meaning he also turned towards Frodo, who'd been itching to ask the same question, I just know it.)
"No, we are not lost," he said reassuringly. "I just don't know where we are or where we're going."
That means we're lost.
"Nooo, I just don't know where we are or whe---"
Yeah. We were lost.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC
Disclaimers: I do not own any characters or events. Unless it's really clear I made up the events. Those, I do own. But other than that, no, I do not own the events. In other words, the events that aren't mine are not mine. And conversely, the events that are actually mine are, in fact, mine. Also, I do not make money off of my fics. I don't plan on making money off of my fics. I doubt I *can* make money off of my fics. I doubt anyone would buy my fics. I wouldn't even buy my fics. All those Big Corporate People that LOTR belongs to have the power to make money. I do not. I repeat: I do NOT make money. I make no money. You are getting sleepy. You shall not sue me. Nooneshallsueme. I am harmless. I'm a harmless little angel. ::angelic smile::
Chapter 17: A Long Underground Walk ~ ~ ~
We ran straight into the dark, freaky-deaky mines. It was the only way to go, and the squid tried to follow. Fortunately, the entrance was too small for the slimy wanker to fit through. Unfortunately, the squid ignored that fact and tried to stuff itself in regardless. The stone supports of the entrance collapsed, leaving us trapped in total darkness.
Something was definitely not right with the mines. Seriously. I could feel it in my...um, ring-bones. Yeah. Uh, anyhow, steering you back to the point. There was something horribly wrong here. Gandalf struck one of his 90watt magic wizard lamps, guaranteed to last 500 hours, with new floral scents (plug it in, plug it in). As the gloom was penetrated by the soothing glow of soft wizard light, we began to find out just why the mines felt so wrong.
"Aragorn..." Legolas's trembling voice floated above the shocked silence. "Is that...a..."
"Yes, that is a rotting skull with a sharp dagger through it," Boromir said sensitively. The place was covered with dead bodies, already skeletons, with weaponry sticking out of various orifices, like the one Boromir so kindly pointed out. Legolas whimpered. Aragorn growled, looking like he'd also like to put a dagger through a certain (coughBoromir'scoughcough) skull. He wrapped an arm around Legolas's willowy shoulders and took him off a little ways away from the group to whisper comforting (and no doubt pornographic) sweet nothings into his ear.
"You're comforting *him*?!?!?!?!" Gimli roared. "He needs no comfort!!! I'm the one whose relatives all DIED!!!!! What about me?!"
By then, Legolas was already too busy making out with Aragorn in a secluded corner to be bothered to make snarky comment at Gimli's outburst. Seeing as how the elf was the only who had been even remotely civil to me, I decided to do him a favour and make a snarky comment for him.
"My cousins! My kin! My woman love-dwarves!!!" Gimli sobbed.
So we're a few dwarves short of a full-out drunken orgy. Boo hoo. You smell bad enough to make up for all of them.
"You evil Ring! How dare you!" Gimli gasped. "We would have provided food and hospitality! And good loving!"
Yeah. Good thing they died, then. No part of this finely polished body will be manhandled by chunky dwarf hands, thankyouverymuch.
"I second that," Legolas managed to say from his corner, amid the passionate moans.
Boromir made an assenting noise. I didn't point out the fact that he had no fine body to worry for. After all, it was the spirit that counted. And, y'know, this was the one and only time I agreed with the position he was lobbying for.
Gandalf frowned at all of us. "You guys fail to see the bigger picture!" he said. "Someone must have killed all these dwarves."
No, really? And I always thought swords and arrows were natural causes of death. Gandalf, of course, ignored me and continued.
"Someone killed them, and that someone could still be here, waiting for their next victim," he said ominously.
"Well, we can't go back out there! That monster will attack Mr. Frodo again!" Sam cried, taking advantage of the moment and sidling up to Frodo, sneaking his arm around his waist. Frodo knocked it off irritably. Attempting to put himself back in his good graces, Sam stuck out his chest heroically and announced, "I will not let us go back there. I will not let Mr. Frodo come to harm!"
Yeah, there's that. There's also the fact that giant boulders are completely blocking our way out. The only way is to go forward. Or, we could all just sit here among the decomposing corpses. Whatever tickles your fancy.
"I vote we find a different way out," Aragorn said in a manly manner, arranging his clothes and straightening his scabbard.
"No. I think we should move forward," Legolas said, coming back looking as impeccable as ever. He eyed a skeleton nervously. "The pall of death puts me ill at ease."
"Well then it's settled. We'll move forward," the very whipped Ranger said.
The rest of us shrugged, not really caring either way. Both spelled trouble and doom anyway.
We moved on past the entrance and went deeper into the mine-turned-tomb. Everyone walked in silence. Almost. Merry and Pippin were skipping around giggling, but aside from that, we were quiet. Is it bad that I've gotten so used to seeing two hobbits doing their best impressions of rabbits with ADD that I think it's normal? Yeah, I think so.
Gandalf would not stop obsessing about who killed all the dwarves. I personally wasn't too worried about it. I mean, if I saw us from a mile away, I'd run like hell. Even fearless dwarf-killers would implode from a billion migraines if forced to hang around us for too long. Besides, anyone who kills a bunch of dwarves can't be all that bad. And I wouldn't exactly complain if Gimli ended up dead. And took Boromir, Sam, and especially Pippin and Merry with him. In fact, if I could, I'd do it myself. Gandalf politely told me to shut the fuck up.
But I just think that---
Gandalf then proceeded to politely tell me just where I could stick my thoughts. Frodo moved us off closer to the back of the group, probably worried that Gandalf would attack me, and by association his neck.
At the back, Boromir was propositioning Pippin and Merry again, coming onto them like the horny child-molester he was. Also at the back were the multi- named wet guy and his beloved bed blankie, joined at the hip as usual. The curious thing about Legolas (y'know, aside from all the other curious things about Legolas) was his immense love of arrows. Every time he passed by a dead body, he would shudder and cling onto his very obliging boyfriend. Unless, I noticed, the dead body happened to get to be a dead body because of an arrow or two. Then, he'd stop in delight to examine the arrow(s).
"See, this one here is a SmoothFlight 3420, a very streamlined model. It possesses excellent speed, but is not nearly as steady as the gilded Cerberon XE we saw back near that big pile of carcasses. Now, that one, the one in the ribs of the dwarf near Boromir's left foot? It is of an old- fashioned make, by the skilled Montgolfier. One can tell because Montgolfier always attached an extra little red feather onto his arrows. I am not very familiar with the older types, but it is said by many that the craftsmanship of this particular model is quite exquisite."
...Um. Yes.
I had to give Aragorn due. The guy was a billion times better than I was at acting interested. You could tell he wasn't really, since he rolled his eyes whenever Legolas was looking the other way. However, he still actually *listened* to the boring shit the elf was spewing. He actually had questions and comments to offer, like "What about the notch on this one? It doesn't look as even as the others."
Damn. I hate to say it, but Aragorn makes a pretty decent boyfriend. That is, if you don't mind the perpetually wet hair, the rather annoying rugged heroic manly thing, and the ever-present willingness to fuck you into the bed (or the floor, or the wall, or a chair, or the counter, or the ground...whichever is nearest.) Oh. And the whole deal with the irritating elf princess who's always following him, hell-bent on making him marry her. There's that, too. Y'know, Legolas actually puts up with a hell of a lot more than I usually give him credit for.
On we walked, for a very, very, very long time. There was no way of telling night from day, so we just slept when we felt like it. Chances are, this majorly fucked up our internal clocks. It would have been fine, though, except for one tiny flaw. See, *some people* (those two damn hobbits, and our resident lovebirds) never slept, while *some other people* (GIMLI, and Sam) would sleep all the time if left to their own devices. Somehow, we still managed to keep moving forward. Which doesn't actually mean anything, considering we were getting nowhere. I had an inkling that we were lost. Perhaps I should ask the supposedly wise and venerable wizard just what the hell we're doing, wandering around in the dark like little disoriented moles.
Gandalf, are we lost?
The old man we were following with blind abandon (what are we, a cult?) turned towards me. (Meaning he also turned towards Frodo, who'd been itching to ask the same question, I just know it.)
"No, we are not lost," he said reassuringly. "I just don't know where we are or where we're going."
That means we're lost.
"Nooo, I just don't know where we are or whe---"
Yeah. We were lost.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC