A/N: Oops, looks like it's going to be more than a week since I last
updated. Damn, was hoping for more reviews for that last chapter but the
ones I got were very satisfying. Names for Jluvien will continue until I
have at least 5 suggestions, cos I REALLY want more reviews. If you like
your one get a friend to review and put in a really stupid name, or
something ;)
Oh yeah, I'd have no idea what elves wear underneath so let's assume these are kept for humans . . . I'm not going to go supposing what elves go around in.
*sniff* Me want Lotr. Means I don't have . . . as yet! Mwahahaha! Nat and Thom and Jluvien (or whatever his name is) are MINE though.
PS. I have never tasted pheasant. So I wouldn't know what it tastes like.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Title: A Place Of Her Own
Chapter: Trends and Epicure
Rating: *blinks*Does nothing get through to you? PG-13!!!
Summary: Natalie wants to get away from it all. She hates the city life. She hates the way people look at her and her brother. She wants a place of her own.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nat followed Iluvion back to her rooms where he showed her which dress Lord Elrond had provided for her to wear.
She took one glance at it and shook her head emphatically.
"Why not?" Iluvion asked puzzled, "Do you not like dresses? I'm sorry but Lord Elrond was . . ."
"No, no," interrupted Nat, "It's just that it's . . ." She made the inter- worldly sign for her chest.
Iluvion looked quizzically at her.
"They'll fall out," she added.
Iluvion continued the look of polite incomprehension.
She rather pointedly pointed at her breasts.
"Oh," Iluvion blushed.
"Do you see now why I can't wear it? It's just too . . . low."
"Ummm," Iluvion seemed quite unable to handle the situation.
Nat waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.
"How about you find me another?" she suggested.
Iluvion shook his head.
"Milord said that you were to wear this one and this one alone."
"Oh."
"You're becoming a woman so it's nothing really . . ."
Once again, Nat seemed to be cornered by the man . . . elf's authority.
"But I see your point," Iluvion conceded.
They both looked at the dress.
"Maybe if I . . ." Iluvion didn't finish his sentence and ran out of the room in search of a seamstress.
Nat watched him as he ran off, obviously he hadn't had much in the way of adolescents.
She sighed and fingered the material. It was a lovely dress, really.Shame she wouldn't be able to wear it.
Iluvion returned with a pink faced she-elf who pushed him out of the room and smiled breathlessly at an astonished Nat.
"Let's see what we can do with this, hmm? Oh dear, yes, very low cut . . . I don't know what milord was thinking when he . . ." the elf busied herself around Nat pulling at her clothes.
"What are you doing?" Nat yelped and pulled away before the seamstress would remove her robe.
The seamstresses eyes narrowed.
"A bit modest, are we? Oh well, hurry up and get the dress on." The elf turned her back to Nat and tapped her foot impatiently.
Nat stared helplessly at the elf's back and slipped on the dress as quickly as she could.
"Uhhh, underwear . . ."
The seamstress whirled around and whistled before going to the wardrobe and ruffling through the many robes.
"Well, I must say it looks nice but if your uncomfortable . . . Never mind dear, put these on," she threw some strange looking shorts to her.
Nat hurriedly put them on as the elf practically flew back to her charge and started holding up the material in various places - under her arms, her shoulders, and the small of her back.
Nat tried to stay stock still as she felt rather than saw the needles push through the fabric.
After several minutes the seamstress stood back to admire her work.
"Hmm, yes . . . Have a look at yourself, dearie."
Nat walked slowly over to the mirror.
"How's that, girl?"
Nat nodded carefully.
"It would have to do," babbled on the elf, "Any higher and Elrond would suspect something or it might get too tight. Too tight equals an ugly sight."
"Thank you, this will be fine," murmured Nat.
The seamstress hurried back to the wardrobe.
"Now before I go . . . put these on, they'll go nicely with the dress and I'll advise you on leaving your hair out. It will look much better."
Nat nodded absently and shuffled the elf out the door with a few more mumbled praises for the woman's handiwork. She returned to put on the slippers and re-adjust the underwear thrown at her.
Looking at herself in the mirror she nodded to her reflection determinably. She'd be fine, and she'd be damned if she took her hair out. It'd just end up knotty and unmanageable by the end of the night. Plus, judging by her relaxed nature she probably wouldn't bother brushing it tonight and leave it for the morning. Nat grimaced at the thought of pulling a brush through her mop of hair.
Nat steadied herself and pushed open the door to find Iluvion leaning nonchalantly against a pillar.
"Ready?" he asked and without waiting for an answer, turned round quickly and led her down the corridors.
Nat shivered as the flimsy material fell against her legs and swished loudly. All of the halls were silent.
"Everyone there already?" she ventured to the back of Iluvion.
"Yes," he said flatly without turning around or slowing.
Nat stayed silent after that.
Moments later she heard some noises which slowly grew louder as they closed onto the Hall.
Iluvion stopped and stiffly offered his arm to her.
"It's alright," she said and tried to push past to the door or the Hall.
He stepped in front of her and offered his arm again.
"Ladies cannot be allowed to enter unescorted."
"Oh, too bad then, I guess. Look like I'll just have to go stay in my room," sighed Nat dramatically before turning to run back to her rooms, wherever they were.
Iluvion caught her elbow and manhandled her arm into submission, clamping it tightly to his body with his arm and pulled her into the Hall.
Their entrance went largely unnoticed among the revellers, Iluvion dragged Nat over to a table where she found Boromir, Thom, the strange hobbits and four strangers.
"This is the table reserved for guests of Rivendell," Iluvion stated before leaving her abruptly and disappearing into the crowd.
Thom barely noticed her as he talked animatedly to the two of the hobbits she'd seen that afternoon at the end of the table. They were the mischief- makers of the four, she noted. She'd have to try and talk to Thom about that later. Perhaps she should try to encourage him to spend more time with the other one, Frodo.
Nat looked to the rest of the table to find Boromir seated next to her, but talking seriously to another man who listened to his words patiently, answering with carefully considered responses. She didn't want to interrupt them.
A blonde haired elf was seated opposite her but he was talking to an old man that had a prominent grey hat seated on his head. They both wore long faces, the topic they were discussing must have been grave and depressing, she felt no need to intrude on them.
Next to her however, was a man being studiously ignored by everyone else in the room, or at leat not noted.
She turned to him in hope of some conversation.
"Excuse me, but are you a hobbit? The other's must be quite young . . . they don't have the beards. I'm Nat," she stuck her hand out bravely at the helmeted person next to her who glared up into her face.
For a moment he seemed ready to hit her, with Nat all but ready to flinch, but then relaxed suddenly. He took her cringing hand.
Nat opened her eyes slowly.
"Took y' for an elf in that dress, milady. I shouldn't be so hasty," he apologised.
"I'm sorry if I . . ." stumbled Nat but her neighbour waved his hand at her.
"No matter, you mustn't have met a dwarf before. We're quite a bit taller than the halflings o'er there," he chuckled and the mood seemed to lighten a bit, "I am Gimli, son of Gloin."
He stared rather directly at their still shaking hands.
"Oh," Nat blushed and let go.
"Nervous, eh?" he asked jovially, "I must say, I feel a bit out of place here to m'self. It's these blasted elves!" The last he said loudly and the blonde one opposite stared disapprovingly at him for a moment before turning back to his conversation with the old man. Gimli shrugged.
"That one o'er there's the worst of 'em, I reckon," he whispered quietly, "A prince too! Of that bewitched wood in the East."
Nat nodded cluelessly.
"Ah, y' wouldn't have any idea what I be goin' on about, do y'? Not to worry, milady. I'll show you some day. I know for a fact we'll be here for quite a while."
The conversation hit a dead end and Nat struggled to find a topic to talk to the dwarf about.
"So, err . . . you don't like elves, do you?"
"No!" exclaimed Gimli and it seemed the end of that topic. Nat racked her brain for something else. Some sort of conversation starter . . . hmmm.
"So, err . . . what do you do?"
"I beg y' pardon, milady?"
"Don't worry, food's here."
Gimili didn't answer and tucked into the plate put before him.
Nat turned to her own and looked enquiringly at it then at hr companions.
Thom and his new found friends were devouring their plates and asking for more while Boromir hadn't bothered touching his. The elf-prince opposite her was delicately putting it to his mouth as the old man chewed and looked thoughtful.
Nat looked back at the plate, which stared predatorily back.
It had . . . things on it. She wasn't sure. It looked like chicken but still had some strange coloured feathers attached to it.
"Pheasant, milady. You will enjoy it," said the elf opposite her. She nodded gratefully and continued to stare at the now named meat.
"Lord Elrond's hunter's snared it this morning, it is quite fresh," the elf continued.
"Thank you," murmured Nat, realising she'd have to eat the meat if she wasn't to give any offence.
She picked up her fork and knife carefully and carved the meat into tiny pieces. The juice oozed out and she inwardly cringed.
The elf was watching, though. She'd have to eat it eventually. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, stuffing the smallest piece she could into her mouth.
She swallowed before tasting it, but some of the juices remained in her mouth. The taste was . . . strange. She proceeded with this, being careful not to let the meat linger in her mouth too long, lest she make a face.
The elf had finished his plate by the time she had finished hers and was looking at her expectantly.
Nat tried to look inconspicuous as he rose and went around to her side of the table.
"Milady, if you would care to dance?"
She winced as he spoke each word. Why did he have to ask her? Wait, WHAT had he asked her?
She looked to him in confusion.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologised, "I am Legolas of the Mirkwood realm. Please?" he indicated the cleared space in the centre of the hall where many couples already flowed gracefully.
She blanched.
Her? Dance? She looked wildly between the prince and the dancing couples. She was ready to fold under the pressure and get out of there.
"I . . . I do not dance," she mumbled to the prince, embarrassed.
"You do not dance? Oh come now, tonight is a grand occasion! Just this one dance, I promise you."
"No . . . I can't . . . I . . ."
Legolas' eyebrows rose slightly.
"Very well, I did not mean to press."
He swept off and found another partner. Nat found herself watching him and his partner float onto the dance floor and elegantly join the others. She sighed wishfully. These people were so beautiful . . .
"You do not dance, milady?" Boromir asked playfully.
"Leave me alone . . ."
"Do you know how to dance, milady?" he asked again, teasingly.
"No! And I don't want to. I don't need to," she told him sullenly.
"If you'd told him, the prince would have taught you in a sheltered spot."
"I don't want to learn."
"And not learn to move like them? That is a fool's wish," he reproached her.
"I'm fine the way I am," Nat told him, "I have no wish to be anyone other than who I am."
"And that is a wiseman's wish," interceded Gimli. Nat flashed him a quick smile of gratitude as Boromir scowled.
"I will teach you," said Boromir quietly.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Aren't I evil? Right in the middle of a potentially romantic scene too! I love this story. Read through it and found a TERRIBLY big mistake and no one seems to have picked up on it. Hmm, what can I offer as a prize to someone who finds it, hmm? I'll think about it. A request? Who the love interest shall be? So many different outcomes . . . Hmm.
I'll give you a clue, it has to do with a Middle Earth fact (and it's not Jluvien's poorly thought up name) and it's not any grammar/spelling mistakes. So . . . anyone able to pick it up?
Another note, Review! Please! Complete the circle! Now you've read you simply MUST Review. It's the whole R&R thing. It'd be against nature to not review! And you don't want to do that, now do you?
Oh yes, funny comic this morning in paper. Thing that was at the end made me laugh, coming from a guy writing his essay: "Panic is my muse."
*giggles*
Well, I found it funny!
*grins evilly*
Oh when shall I update, hmm? When, oh when?
*skips off singing to self*
Oh yeah, I'd have no idea what elves wear underneath so let's assume these are kept for humans . . . I'm not going to go supposing what elves go around in.
*sniff* Me want Lotr. Means I don't have . . . as yet! Mwahahaha! Nat and Thom and Jluvien (or whatever his name is) are MINE though.
PS. I have never tasted pheasant. So I wouldn't know what it tastes like.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Title: A Place Of Her Own
Chapter: Trends and Epicure
Rating: *blinks*Does nothing get through to you? PG-13!!!
Summary: Natalie wants to get away from it all. She hates the city life. She hates the way people look at her and her brother. She wants a place of her own.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nat followed Iluvion back to her rooms where he showed her which dress Lord Elrond had provided for her to wear.
She took one glance at it and shook her head emphatically.
"Why not?" Iluvion asked puzzled, "Do you not like dresses? I'm sorry but Lord Elrond was . . ."
"No, no," interrupted Nat, "It's just that it's . . ." She made the inter- worldly sign for her chest.
Iluvion looked quizzically at her.
"They'll fall out," she added.
Iluvion continued the look of polite incomprehension.
She rather pointedly pointed at her breasts.
"Oh," Iluvion blushed.
"Do you see now why I can't wear it? It's just too . . . low."
"Ummm," Iluvion seemed quite unable to handle the situation.
Nat waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.
"How about you find me another?" she suggested.
Iluvion shook his head.
"Milord said that you were to wear this one and this one alone."
"Oh."
"You're becoming a woman so it's nothing really . . ."
Once again, Nat seemed to be cornered by the man . . . elf's authority.
"But I see your point," Iluvion conceded.
They both looked at the dress.
"Maybe if I . . ." Iluvion didn't finish his sentence and ran out of the room in search of a seamstress.
Nat watched him as he ran off, obviously he hadn't had much in the way of adolescents.
She sighed and fingered the material. It was a lovely dress, really.Shame she wouldn't be able to wear it.
Iluvion returned with a pink faced she-elf who pushed him out of the room and smiled breathlessly at an astonished Nat.
"Let's see what we can do with this, hmm? Oh dear, yes, very low cut . . . I don't know what milord was thinking when he . . ." the elf busied herself around Nat pulling at her clothes.
"What are you doing?" Nat yelped and pulled away before the seamstress would remove her robe.
The seamstresses eyes narrowed.
"A bit modest, are we? Oh well, hurry up and get the dress on." The elf turned her back to Nat and tapped her foot impatiently.
Nat stared helplessly at the elf's back and slipped on the dress as quickly as she could.
"Uhhh, underwear . . ."
The seamstress whirled around and whistled before going to the wardrobe and ruffling through the many robes.
"Well, I must say it looks nice but if your uncomfortable . . . Never mind dear, put these on," she threw some strange looking shorts to her.
Nat hurriedly put them on as the elf practically flew back to her charge and started holding up the material in various places - under her arms, her shoulders, and the small of her back.
Nat tried to stay stock still as she felt rather than saw the needles push through the fabric.
After several minutes the seamstress stood back to admire her work.
"Hmm, yes . . . Have a look at yourself, dearie."
Nat walked slowly over to the mirror.
"How's that, girl?"
Nat nodded carefully.
"It would have to do," babbled on the elf, "Any higher and Elrond would suspect something or it might get too tight. Too tight equals an ugly sight."
"Thank you, this will be fine," murmured Nat.
The seamstress hurried back to the wardrobe.
"Now before I go . . . put these on, they'll go nicely with the dress and I'll advise you on leaving your hair out. It will look much better."
Nat nodded absently and shuffled the elf out the door with a few more mumbled praises for the woman's handiwork. She returned to put on the slippers and re-adjust the underwear thrown at her.
Looking at herself in the mirror she nodded to her reflection determinably. She'd be fine, and she'd be damned if she took her hair out. It'd just end up knotty and unmanageable by the end of the night. Plus, judging by her relaxed nature she probably wouldn't bother brushing it tonight and leave it for the morning. Nat grimaced at the thought of pulling a brush through her mop of hair.
Nat steadied herself and pushed open the door to find Iluvion leaning nonchalantly against a pillar.
"Ready?" he asked and without waiting for an answer, turned round quickly and led her down the corridors.
Nat shivered as the flimsy material fell against her legs and swished loudly. All of the halls were silent.
"Everyone there already?" she ventured to the back of Iluvion.
"Yes," he said flatly without turning around or slowing.
Nat stayed silent after that.
Moments later she heard some noises which slowly grew louder as they closed onto the Hall.
Iluvion stopped and stiffly offered his arm to her.
"It's alright," she said and tried to push past to the door or the Hall.
He stepped in front of her and offered his arm again.
"Ladies cannot be allowed to enter unescorted."
"Oh, too bad then, I guess. Look like I'll just have to go stay in my room," sighed Nat dramatically before turning to run back to her rooms, wherever they were.
Iluvion caught her elbow and manhandled her arm into submission, clamping it tightly to his body with his arm and pulled her into the Hall.
Their entrance went largely unnoticed among the revellers, Iluvion dragged Nat over to a table where she found Boromir, Thom, the strange hobbits and four strangers.
"This is the table reserved for guests of Rivendell," Iluvion stated before leaving her abruptly and disappearing into the crowd.
Thom barely noticed her as he talked animatedly to the two of the hobbits she'd seen that afternoon at the end of the table. They were the mischief- makers of the four, she noted. She'd have to try and talk to Thom about that later. Perhaps she should try to encourage him to spend more time with the other one, Frodo.
Nat looked to the rest of the table to find Boromir seated next to her, but talking seriously to another man who listened to his words patiently, answering with carefully considered responses. She didn't want to interrupt them.
A blonde haired elf was seated opposite her but he was talking to an old man that had a prominent grey hat seated on his head. They both wore long faces, the topic they were discussing must have been grave and depressing, she felt no need to intrude on them.
Next to her however, was a man being studiously ignored by everyone else in the room, or at leat not noted.
She turned to him in hope of some conversation.
"Excuse me, but are you a hobbit? The other's must be quite young . . . they don't have the beards. I'm Nat," she stuck her hand out bravely at the helmeted person next to her who glared up into her face.
For a moment he seemed ready to hit her, with Nat all but ready to flinch, but then relaxed suddenly. He took her cringing hand.
Nat opened her eyes slowly.
"Took y' for an elf in that dress, milady. I shouldn't be so hasty," he apologised.
"I'm sorry if I . . ." stumbled Nat but her neighbour waved his hand at her.
"No matter, you mustn't have met a dwarf before. We're quite a bit taller than the halflings o'er there," he chuckled and the mood seemed to lighten a bit, "I am Gimli, son of Gloin."
He stared rather directly at their still shaking hands.
"Oh," Nat blushed and let go.
"Nervous, eh?" he asked jovially, "I must say, I feel a bit out of place here to m'self. It's these blasted elves!" The last he said loudly and the blonde one opposite stared disapprovingly at him for a moment before turning back to his conversation with the old man. Gimli shrugged.
"That one o'er there's the worst of 'em, I reckon," he whispered quietly, "A prince too! Of that bewitched wood in the East."
Nat nodded cluelessly.
"Ah, y' wouldn't have any idea what I be goin' on about, do y'? Not to worry, milady. I'll show you some day. I know for a fact we'll be here for quite a while."
The conversation hit a dead end and Nat struggled to find a topic to talk to the dwarf about.
"So, err . . . you don't like elves, do you?"
"No!" exclaimed Gimli and it seemed the end of that topic. Nat racked her brain for something else. Some sort of conversation starter . . . hmmm.
"So, err . . . what do you do?"
"I beg y' pardon, milady?"
"Don't worry, food's here."
Gimili didn't answer and tucked into the plate put before him.
Nat turned to her own and looked enquiringly at it then at hr companions.
Thom and his new found friends were devouring their plates and asking for more while Boromir hadn't bothered touching his. The elf-prince opposite her was delicately putting it to his mouth as the old man chewed and looked thoughtful.
Nat looked back at the plate, which stared predatorily back.
It had . . . things on it. She wasn't sure. It looked like chicken but still had some strange coloured feathers attached to it.
"Pheasant, milady. You will enjoy it," said the elf opposite her. She nodded gratefully and continued to stare at the now named meat.
"Lord Elrond's hunter's snared it this morning, it is quite fresh," the elf continued.
"Thank you," murmured Nat, realising she'd have to eat the meat if she wasn't to give any offence.
She picked up her fork and knife carefully and carved the meat into tiny pieces. The juice oozed out and she inwardly cringed.
The elf was watching, though. She'd have to eat it eventually. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, stuffing the smallest piece she could into her mouth.
She swallowed before tasting it, but some of the juices remained in her mouth. The taste was . . . strange. She proceeded with this, being careful not to let the meat linger in her mouth too long, lest she make a face.
The elf had finished his plate by the time she had finished hers and was looking at her expectantly.
Nat tried to look inconspicuous as he rose and went around to her side of the table.
"Milady, if you would care to dance?"
She winced as he spoke each word. Why did he have to ask her? Wait, WHAT had he asked her?
She looked to him in confusion.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologised, "I am Legolas of the Mirkwood realm. Please?" he indicated the cleared space in the centre of the hall where many couples already flowed gracefully.
She blanched.
Her? Dance? She looked wildly between the prince and the dancing couples. She was ready to fold under the pressure and get out of there.
"I . . . I do not dance," she mumbled to the prince, embarrassed.
"You do not dance? Oh come now, tonight is a grand occasion! Just this one dance, I promise you."
"No . . . I can't . . . I . . ."
Legolas' eyebrows rose slightly.
"Very well, I did not mean to press."
He swept off and found another partner. Nat found herself watching him and his partner float onto the dance floor and elegantly join the others. She sighed wishfully. These people were so beautiful . . .
"You do not dance, milady?" Boromir asked playfully.
"Leave me alone . . ."
"Do you know how to dance, milady?" he asked again, teasingly.
"No! And I don't want to. I don't need to," she told him sullenly.
"If you'd told him, the prince would have taught you in a sheltered spot."
"I don't want to learn."
"And not learn to move like them? That is a fool's wish," he reproached her.
"I'm fine the way I am," Nat told him, "I have no wish to be anyone other than who I am."
"And that is a wiseman's wish," interceded Gimli. Nat flashed him a quick smile of gratitude as Boromir scowled.
"I will teach you," said Boromir quietly.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Aren't I evil? Right in the middle of a potentially romantic scene too! I love this story. Read through it and found a TERRIBLY big mistake and no one seems to have picked up on it. Hmm, what can I offer as a prize to someone who finds it, hmm? I'll think about it. A request? Who the love interest shall be? So many different outcomes . . . Hmm.
I'll give you a clue, it has to do with a Middle Earth fact (and it's not Jluvien's poorly thought up name) and it's not any grammar/spelling mistakes. So . . . anyone able to pick it up?
Another note, Review! Please! Complete the circle! Now you've read you simply MUST Review. It's the whole R&R thing. It'd be against nature to not review! And you don't want to do that, now do you?
Oh yes, funny comic this morning in paper. Thing that was at the end made me laugh, coming from a guy writing his essay: "Panic is my muse."
*giggles*
Well, I found it funny!
*grins evilly*
Oh when shall I update, hmm? When, oh when?
*skips off singing to self*