If you squint, there is a plant in this one.
300 words (a smattering of which may or may not be completely made up).
Plants
The battle began as it always did.
Erestor passed the dreaded platter. Down it came, past Elrohir, who spooned a modest serving, past the lady at his elbow, who garnished hers with cheese.
The host handed it on untouched, not looking down from his enraptured conversation. Hope rose in the watcher's chest.
But next it came to Elladan, who sat upon the immediate left. This individual heaped his own plate with a vile slick of ruminage and reached to bestow his dinner companion with a similar portion.
The dinner companion gave a mighty sigh.
The elder smiled. He turned and bent and murmured in a low and pleasant voice, "Until the last, young master, if you please, and you will spare us your usual theatrics."
The young master dared not sigh again. Rebellion rose and crested in his spirit; he quelled it with a willful twist. Like Beren in his bitter chains, he would bear this torment valiantly.
The stuff was immasticable. It would not break down between his teeth, but enlarged the more he gnawed it. It tasted of frog scum and the refuse scraped from a goblin's underside.
Doggedly, he mowed through half. The remainder leered at him. His gorge inflated in his throat.
From the right appeared a surreptitious fork. With a nimble twist it spooled up the dregs of unctuous greenery and whisked them away while Elladan was nose-deep in his goblet.
The erstwhile diner peeked up. Glorfindel, deep in conversation with the guest at his right hand, slid a blunt fingernail between two rear teeth and did not so much as glance at the small person seated next to him.
But underneath the table, out of sight of disapproving eyes, a boot bumped his in clandestine conspiracy.
Estel courteously asked Elladan to pass the venison.