Yay for the Muse!
Feb. 22nd, 2004 12:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneToday is busy, what with a.m. church (completed), stepson's birthday party/baseball game (momentarily), Choral Evensong rehearsal (3:30) and service (5:00), then looking in on a coworker's cats. Woo hoo! A house to myself! Great fun.
Argh. LJ seems to have eliminated my Rohirric doorwards icon. Bugger.
The Muse is busy. I've finished the next to last Gimli & Legolas scene in "Speak, Friend, and Enter." Working on this story makes me smile; the tension-filled, potentially comedic interactions of Elf and Dwarf is so much fun to write. Here's the vignette.
With weight of exquisite memory, the quill touched the paper, deftly marking long curves and short flourishes, giving rounded voice to such fluttering song. Then the quill was set down to rest for a moment, as the Elf remembered sounds of leaves shimmering in autumn’s breath, delicate whispers of deer tracks seen when he was only a child. Suddenly inspired, Legolas leaned in, then cursed as his elbow knocked over the inkpot which he recovered before its contents ruined the embellished pages. Once he reestablished order to parchment, ink, and wine-filled chalice, he continued to write, humming faintly to himself.
After a while he stopped, taking a moment to glance at the phrases on the page. Feeling rather pleased, Legolas took a congratulatory swig of the wine, then gathered up his pieces of parchment, tucking them into the front page of Narvi’s book. He pushed back from the writing-desk and paused before leaving the room, still amazed by the number of tomes organized neatly on the shelves. He had made the mistake of saying so out loud, soon finding himself on the accusatory end of a rather long lecture by Gimli, given enthusiastically, but with indignant tone and zealous gesticulations.
Moments later Legolas was striding purposefully toward the Great Hall. He entered and quickly scanned the room for Gimli, who was not there. Flames smouldered in a large fireplace at the wall opposite the entryway, and there a few Dwarves stood, drinking a steaming beverage of something that Legolas had not quite been able to determine. They stopped speaking as he approached, not that Legolas would have understood what they were saying. Even Gimli did not speak Khudzul around him, aside from his battle cry, which Legolas knew well.
“I am looking for Gimli, my friends,” Legolas said, smiling.
There was a silence as the Dwarves looked at him, then to each other and back again.
“He is working,” one replied, gazing thoughtfully at Legolas as he ran his fingers through his russet-colored beard.
“Where should I find him?”
Legolas endured another round of meaningful glances among the Dwarves before receiving an answer.
“He is in his workroom. Does he expect you?”
The question seemed to be asked more to the book in the Elf’s arms than to Legolas, as the Dwarf who had just spoken was staring hard at it.
Legolas shifted, holding Narvi’s book protectively to his chest. “No,” he replied, “but I do not believe that he finds my company an intrusion.”
More unspoken messages passed among the trio as the fire popped and crackled cheerfully behind them. Finally the Dwarf with the reddish beard gave Legolas a steely, disapproving look, and Legolas was a bit surprised to realize how well he now could read the Dwarves’ expressions. “He is on the corridor with the silversmiths. It is up to him to decide whether or not to let you into his chamber, but the request is most uncommon.”
The conversation appeared to be over. Legolas bowed slightly, then turned and left the room, trying to remember the locations of the different paths that Gimli had indicated to him when they had first arrived. Having been raised in Mirkwood, Legolas was familiar enough with caverns, but the dimensions of things in Erebor were, not surprisingly, Dwarf-centric, and he found himself stooping even when there was a comfortable distance between the top of his head and the ceiling.
The corridors were hushed, though not silent. Following instinct and memory, Legolas eventually found himself in front of a wooden door with a rune on it that he recognized as a “G,” and rapped soundly on it. There was no reply, although Legolas could hear noises within.
He knocked again, vigorously.
No answer.
Seized by impulse, with what could only be described as a cheeky grin, he called to the door, “Mellon!,” then stepped back a few paces.
He heard pounding steps, then Gimli threw open the door.
“What?” the Dwarf roared. “Haven’t I taught you anything about Dwarvish manners? You don’t simply barge in…” Gimli’s rant trailed off as he stared at Legolas, who was beaming and clutching Narvi’s book in one arm.
Gimli shook his head in resignation, then looked up at his friend and nodded, backing against the door and gesturing for Legolas to enter. “You look like Meriadoc or Peregrin after finding an unexpected barrel of pipeweed,” he said suspiciously, closing the door behind Legolas. “What have you been up to?”
The Elf made a quick tour of the room, his long fingers about to trace a pattern on a helmet when he heard Gimli speak in a quiet, authoritative way he had never heard before.
“Please don’t touch that.”
Legolas whirled around, placing his errant hand back on the cover of the book, then looked for a place to sit. “I have been writing, and thinking,” he replied as he leaned against a mostly-empty counter. “I would like to invite you to join me in Mirkwood in a few week’s time for a feast of cleansing and renewal.”
Gimli puttered around another counter, hanging up some tools and wrapping others that were more delicate in small pieces of cloth before placing them gently in an unornamented box.
“Well?” Legolas queried as he watched Gimli take off his work apron and hang it on a hook on the door.
The Dwarf huffed and sat down, playing at one of the plaits in his beard. “Yes, alright,” he agreed, then raising his gaze, he asked, “Are you still trying to read that book of Narvi’s?”
Legolas could see the smirk under Gimli’s thick moustache. “Perhaps,” he replied, smug. “Once again you have underestimated me, my friend. I am making progress. It is, after all, rather easy to read once you learn the runes.”
Gimli raised a bushy eyebrow. “But the content! I thought Elves cared only about trees, and song, and stars.” Glancing at Legolas’ ever-present knives, he quickly added, “And killing orcs. Not how to carve giant doors out of stone and the intricacies of working with mithril.”
The Elf’s pale blue eyes gleamed like polished agates. “Narvi wrote much about Celebrimbor, the greatest of the Elven-smiths. It is rather interesting.”
Gimli’s mouth opened, then shut.
“I must say that I was surprised as well,” Legolas continued, amused at his comrade’s reaction.
“I think you had best leave that book with me,” Gimli growled, extending his arm.
“But I have not fin-”
“Give it here,” Gimli said. “It belongs to the Dwarves. Apparently I did not read it thoroughly before.”
Reluctantly, Legolas handed the book to Gimli, who now looked at it with apprehension. The Dwarf opened the cover and Legolas’ sheets of parchment slid into his lap. “What’s this?” he asked, gathering the pages. He recognized the writing as Elvish script, but nothing more. He held them out for Legolas to retrieve.
Legolas quickly crossed the room and took the proffered parchments. With a slight flourish and nod of his head, he said, “You will find out in Mirkwood, my friend.” He smiled so widely that his teeth showed. “Mid-summer’s Eve. Do not be late.”
“So you are leaving, then?” Gimli stood, scowling. “I thought that you were enjoying your time here.”
“I am,” Legolas replied. “But my father has summoned me, and I wish to return the favor of hospitality to you that you have so generously bequeathed to me.”
Gimli nodded. “Good. So Dwarvish manners have made an impression on you after all.”
Legolas tipped his head slightly, rolled up his parchments, and walked to the door. “Thank you for allowing me into your workroom,” he said quietly, his hand on the metal knob. “I had not realized how uncommon that was.”
Gimli shifted from one foot to the other. “We are both uncommon,” he gruffly replied. “Mid-summer’s Eve it is. Be sure they know to expect me,” he continued. “I would not care to repeat my father’s experience in King Thranduil’s home.”
Legolas stared, appalled, as Gimli burst into a throaty laugh. “Go on, Legolas. Dwarvish humor. Maybe someday you will understand.”
Legolas shook his head as he opened the heavy door and walked into the corridor.
In other writing news, I now have a new story in my head featuring the Weasley twins, and no-one will get killed. A lighthearted romp, if you can imagine. It's stag night, for Ron, after he has eloped with Hermione. Much chaos and drinking will ensue when all of his older brothers and some Hogwart's friendsroast toast him and his new marriage. And I've run across a new word which could apply to either twin (and will have to be used in said story): prestidigitation- n. slight of hand. For two guys running a joke shop, it's a no-brainer.
Yikes. Must go! "Gotta motor if I'm going to make thisfuneral birthday party!"
Yes, I'm channeling films from the 80's. Dunno why.
Argh. LJ seems to have eliminated my Rohirric doorwards icon. Bugger.
The Muse is busy. I've finished the next to last Gimli & Legolas scene in "Speak, Friend, and Enter." Working on this story makes me smile; the tension-filled, potentially comedic interactions of Elf and Dwarf is so much fun to write. Here's the vignette.
Erebor, Fourth Age
With weight of exquisite memory, the quill touched the paper, deftly marking long curves and short flourishes, giving rounded voice to such fluttering song. Then the quill was set down to rest for a moment, as the Elf remembered sounds of leaves shimmering in autumn’s breath, delicate whispers of deer tracks seen when he was only a child. Suddenly inspired, Legolas leaned in, then cursed as his elbow knocked over the inkpot which he recovered before its contents ruined the embellished pages. Once he reestablished order to parchment, ink, and wine-filled chalice, he continued to write, humming faintly to himself.
After a while he stopped, taking a moment to glance at the phrases on the page. Feeling rather pleased, Legolas took a congratulatory swig of the wine, then gathered up his pieces of parchment, tucking them into the front page of Narvi’s book. He pushed back from the writing-desk and paused before leaving the room, still amazed by the number of tomes organized neatly on the shelves. He had made the mistake of saying so out loud, soon finding himself on the accusatory end of a rather long lecture by Gimli, given enthusiastically, but with indignant tone and zealous gesticulations.
Moments later Legolas was striding purposefully toward the Great Hall. He entered and quickly scanned the room for Gimli, who was not there. Flames smouldered in a large fireplace at the wall opposite the entryway, and there a few Dwarves stood, drinking a steaming beverage of something that Legolas had not quite been able to determine. They stopped speaking as he approached, not that Legolas would have understood what they were saying. Even Gimli did not speak Khudzul around him, aside from his battle cry, which Legolas knew well.
“I am looking for Gimli, my friends,” Legolas said, smiling.
There was a silence as the Dwarves looked at him, then to each other and back again.
“He is working,” one replied, gazing thoughtfully at Legolas as he ran his fingers through his russet-colored beard.
“Where should I find him?”
Legolas endured another round of meaningful glances among the Dwarves before receiving an answer.
“He is in his workroom. Does he expect you?”
The question seemed to be asked more to the book in the Elf’s arms than to Legolas, as the Dwarf who had just spoken was staring hard at it.
Legolas shifted, holding Narvi’s book protectively to his chest. “No,” he replied, “but I do not believe that he finds my company an intrusion.”
More unspoken messages passed among the trio as the fire popped and crackled cheerfully behind them. Finally the Dwarf with the reddish beard gave Legolas a steely, disapproving look, and Legolas was a bit surprised to realize how well he now could read the Dwarves’ expressions. “He is on the corridor with the silversmiths. It is up to him to decide whether or not to let you into his chamber, but the request is most uncommon.”
The conversation appeared to be over. Legolas bowed slightly, then turned and left the room, trying to remember the locations of the different paths that Gimli had indicated to him when they had first arrived. Having been raised in Mirkwood, Legolas was familiar enough with caverns, but the dimensions of things in Erebor were, not surprisingly, Dwarf-centric, and he found himself stooping even when there was a comfortable distance between the top of his head and the ceiling.
The corridors were hushed, though not silent. Following instinct and memory, Legolas eventually found himself in front of a wooden door with a rune on it that he recognized as a “G,” and rapped soundly on it. There was no reply, although Legolas could hear noises within.
He knocked again, vigorously.
No answer.
Seized by impulse, with what could only be described as a cheeky grin, he called to the door, “Mellon!,” then stepped back a few paces.
He heard pounding steps, then Gimli threw open the door.
“What?” the Dwarf roared. “Haven’t I taught you anything about Dwarvish manners? You don’t simply barge in…” Gimli’s rant trailed off as he stared at Legolas, who was beaming and clutching Narvi’s book in one arm.
Gimli shook his head in resignation, then looked up at his friend and nodded, backing against the door and gesturing for Legolas to enter. “You look like Meriadoc or Peregrin after finding an unexpected barrel of pipeweed,” he said suspiciously, closing the door behind Legolas. “What have you been up to?”
The Elf made a quick tour of the room, his long fingers about to trace a pattern on a helmet when he heard Gimli speak in a quiet, authoritative way he had never heard before.
“Please don’t touch that.”
Legolas whirled around, placing his errant hand back on the cover of the book, then looked for a place to sit. “I have been writing, and thinking,” he replied as he leaned against a mostly-empty counter. “I would like to invite you to join me in Mirkwood in a few week’s time for a feast of cleansing and renewal.”
Gimli puttered around another counter, hanging up some tools and wrapping others that were more delicate in small pieces of cloth before placing them gently in an unornamented box.
“Well?” Legolas queried as he watched Gimli take off his work apron and hang it on a hook on the door.
The Dwarf huffed and sat down, playing at one of the plaits in his beard. “Yes, alright,” he agreed, then raising his gaze, he asked, “Are you still trying to read that book of Narvi’s?”
Legolas could see the smirk under Gimli’s thick moustache. “Perhaps,” he replied, smug. “Once again you have underestimated me, my friend. I am making progress. It is, after all, rather easy to read once you learn the runes.”
Gimli raised a bushy eyebrow. “But the content! I thought Elves cared only about trees, and song, and stars.” Glancing at Legolas’ ever-present knives, he quickly added, “And killing orcs. Not how to carve giant doors out of stone and the intricacies of working with mithril.”
The Elf’s pale blue eyes gleamed like polished agates. “Narvi wrote much about Celebrimbor, the greatest of the Elven-smiths. It is rather interesting.”
Gimli’s mouth opened, then shut.
“I must say that I was surprised as well,” Legolas continued, amused at his comrade’s reaction.
“I think you had best leave that book with me,” Gimli growled, extending his arm.
“But I have not fin-”
“Give it here,” Gimli said. “It belongs to the Dwarves. Apparently I did not read it thoroughly before.”
Reluctantly, Legolas handed the book to Gimli, who now looked at it with apprehension. The Dwarf opened the cover and Legolas’ sheets of parchment slid into his lap. “What’s this?” he asked, gathering the pages. He recognized the writing as Elvish script, but nothing more. He held them out for Legolas to retrieve.
Legolas quickly crossed the room and took the proffered parchments. With a slight flourish and nod of his head, he said, “You will find out in Mirkwood, my friend.” He smiled so widely that his teeth showed. “Mid-summer’s Eve. Do not be late.”
“So you are leaving, then?” Gimli stood, scowling. “I thought that you were enjoying your time here.”
“I am,” Legolas replied. “But my father has summoned me, and I wish to return the favor of hospitality to you that you have so generously bequeathed to me.”
Gimli nodded. “Good. So Dwarvish manners have made an impression on you after all.”
Legolas tipped his head slightly, rolled up his parchments, and walked to the door. “Thank you for allowing me into your workroom,” he said quietly, his hand on the metal knob. “I had not realized how uncommon that was.”
Gimli shifted from one foot to the other. “We are both uncommon,” he gruffly replied. “Mid-summer’s Eve it is. Be sure they know to expect me,” he continued. “I would not care to repeat my father’s experience in King Thranduil’s home.”
Legolas stared, appalled, as Gimli burst into a throaty laugh. “Go on, Legolas. Dwarvish humor. Maybe someday you will understand.”
Legolas shook his head as he opened the heavy door and walked into the corridor.
In other writing news, I now have a new story in my head featuring the Weasley twins, and no-one will get killed. A lighthearted romp, if you can imagine. It's stag night, for Ron, after he has eloped with Hermione. Much chaos and drinking will ensue when all of his older brothers and some Hogwart's friends
Yikes. Must go! "Gotta motor if I'm going to make this
Yes, I'm channeling films from the 80's. Dunno why.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-23 06:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-23 06:44 am (UTC)I meant to say: hope S's birthday party went well and that no children were demonic. I just had lunch today with someone who was telling me (in gleeful, masochistic detail) about her 8-yr-old's b'day party on the w'end - 16 screaming girls in over 40 degree C heat...my idea of hell on wheels.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-23 03:32 pm (UTC)Oh, please! Never! Perish the thought. The birthday party was fine- it was Sam and 6 of his friends at a Vanderbilt baseball game. They had a whole patio section, with pizza (which is funny because Sam doesn't eat pizza, but apparently he had a grilled cheese sandwich before arriving), soft drinks, and gift bags with posters of the team, etc. etc. It was fine except that from time to time the boys would go running off to play their own game, which was making Linda mad and wondering why she had bothered to pay for them to attend if they weren't going to watch! I did some knitting and half-watched the game. Emma did some homework and chatted with me. Pretty low-key, actually, and I had to leave early anyway for the Evensong rehearsal.
Thanks for asking! Emma's will be in two weeks; she'll have a boy/girl party in the evening so that she can have a fire outdoors and roast marshmallows. That must sound atrocious to you right now, given the weather where you are!!