Disclaimer : copyrighted J.R.R. Tolkien. Thanks to Amélie and CKlovesme2040 ( guess whose tale it is ? ; ) and Gaius Valerius Catullusfor their reviews, I am happy there are at least two readers of my tales ! I will go on with the stories of the company, but please RAR ! ; ) It is just for fun, so you can try ! Hope you'll enjoy !

The Tale of the Dew-collector

The merry company suddenly went silent:

The entire gathering was as still as an Ent.

Would Gandalf transform the next candidate?

Or would he treat him as an old mate?

The Host yawned loudly, a blond elf stood up.

"May I, Legolas, tell a gentle tale and raise a cup

To the glory of the sky, wind and rain?

Thou will not have a story told in vain.

Of hobbit, quest or ring thou will not hear,

For I will deal with a subject most sincere,

Which is the harmonious life of my people.

We, elves, who can be satisfied with an apple!

We, elves, sweet creatures who can rejoice..."

The Host groaned: "Are you warming your voice?

I said I wanted a merry tale and not a story soft!"

Legolas cast a hard look at his guest and coughed.

"I will deal with my folk, nature and pleasure.

Hear me, and you will be transported for sure."

The elf paused theatrically and combed his hair

With his long and pale fingers. He breathed the air:

"We are the children of the sun and moon,

Whatever the time, dusk, dawn or noon;

We walk through the forest, swift as our arrows,

The dead golden leaves are our boredom's barrows;

Snow with its white coat to the fox shows our steps,

Buds and fresh nests bring joyful songs to our lips;

Sunbeams turn our sleepy blood into boiling sap.

The seasons we pass, in light we wrap,

Dew is our drink, stars are our jewels,

From which we draw our knowledge, as from wells.

Raindrops on a still lake is the sweetest sonata,

For us jars of barks, no need of terra cotta.

Fresh moss is our bed, spider web our clothes.

Our favourite moment is when the wind blows,

Having the trees rustle and the clear water shiver,

Carrying in its invisible breath the shy dust of silver,

And the young and vigorous pollens,

To secret clearings to put them on lichens..."

"Now, listen, Pointy-Ears!" the Host interrupted.

"Quicken your tale, or you'll have my anger erupted."

"Don't be so impatient, thou foul innkeeper!"

Legolas snarled, knitting his brows. "I'll go deeper

In my marvellous story when I decide,

So contradicting me would be suicide."

The elf's eyes were as threatening as burning coals.

"We, elves of the grey havens, have delicate souls,

What we enjoy most is to wander about the forest,

When we gather dew, trapped on the plants' chest.

However, we sometimes get terribly angry,

If we find on the plants a dirty mud hungry,

That has but spoilt our dear dawn dew so pure.

The orcs brought mud, now they will feel insecure!

Those silly nasty greasy muddy beasts,

Won't sleep peacefully anymore for we, artists

Of nature, will hunt them down everywhere,

Through woods, oceans, hills and dales or dragon's lair!

No peace for them, their sacrilege they will pay,

No escape for them, no need to run away!

Our arrows will your muscled and smelly chests shot,

For the non-respect of our sanctuary you forgot!

Your heads we will have them pointed..."

Legolas stopped speaking, disappointed.

"Where are you all, members of the company?"

The elf, surprised, looked around him. No one.

Himself stood on the large table, undone.

He realised that he had his precious bow in hand,

An arrow nocked, ready to shoot someone in the band,

Had the company not yet run away from his fit of anger.

"Oh" he said "I did not mean to put you in danger.

Pray pardon me, gentle folk, I was a bit too...brisk.

But now you can come back, there is no longer risk."

Quite mortified, the elf waited. But none came.

"Well, whether you're here or not is just the same.

I will go for a walk in the surroundings,

Tis better than mourning for silly golden rings!"

Then he jumped from the table to the open window,

And light as a cat disappeared in the deep shadow.