Texas Moot 2015!!--Update!

[Fíriel]

Here's my contribution to the writing challenge.

Re-write a scene from the the book, from the perspective/point-of-view of an inanimate object that was present at, or used in that scene.


Gimli was happy.

Well, happy wasn't the right word, really. More like quietly content. I could tell from the way he stamped the ground approvingly, from the different tone in his voice when he spoke, the way he breathed deeply of the air. His hands shifted on me, and I could feel tension ease from his shoulders as he spoke to the Elf. – “Give me a year and a hundred of my kin and I would make this a place that armies would break on like water.”

I, on the other hand, was more interested in an evening spent with a honing stone in the firelight. Sometimes I missed the evenings at the Lonely Mountain when Gimli would lavish time on me, sharpening my blade to a razor edge, while singing the songs of his people.

We were a long way from the Mountain.

The Elf had stopped speaking, and I realized Gimli had rejoined – “Riding is tiring work. Yet my axe is restless in my hand. Give me a row of orcs necks and room to swing and all weariness will fall from me.”

Here we go again, I thought. My master and the Elf had come a long way since the Council of Elrond – their open suspicion developing into a grudging respect, and now deepening into genuine friendship. Of course, that didn't preclude a highly competitive rivalry betwixt the two.

Their current competition, tallying vanquished enemies, seemed a bit unfair to me for three reasons. The first (and obvious) reason was that technically, I was the one doing all the killing for my master, and that ridiculously stuck up Bow and prissy little Knives were doing the killing for the Elf. Oh, sure, they were technically wielding us, but seriously, we were doing all the heavy lifting, after all.

Which leads me to my second and third points. 2 – is it fair to pit an axe (even as fine and experienced an axe as myself) against a nancy-boy elf bow that doesn't even do its own dirty work, but sends off flights of un-thanked arrows to score its kills? and 3 – not only did the bow, for all practical purposes, do nothing, but when the Elf was in close combat, he used those silly knives.

Me, I'm an all around kind of weapon. You won't see me sending someone else off to do my work.

But I digress.

Time had passed. I must confess I don't always pay attention to the linear passage of time like my master. I suppose it's partly because I've always had a bit of a flighty mind when it comes right down to it. I've always believed that's why I ended up a battle axe instead of an anvil, like my more staid and dependable ore siblings from the family vein. Anyways, Gimli and I had been out for a walk, and claimed the lives of two Orcs who thought to kill our new comrade, Eomer. Legolas had been unimpressed, saying he had already offed 20 “at the least”. I swear his bow sneered at me as we walked past.

The battle became quite intense not long after, and Gimli and I had plenty to do. As I drank the blood of yet another Orc, I must confess the thought of beating the Elf's bow and good for nothing knives was sweet. We climbed the wall, and Gimli spoke.

“Twenty-one!”

“Good!” said Legolas. “But my count is now two dozen. It has been knife work up here.”

I snarled silently to myself. Still behind the tally.

The battle began again, swirling and ebbing and flowing about us. Then suddenly, we were separated from our friends, and driven into the caves of Helm's Deep.

Where my master fell in love.

Forgotten was the battle, forgotten the competition, and instead, I felt awe, wonder, yearning wash through him as he beheld the Caverns of Helm's Deep. I'm not much one for poetry, but even I could feel the magic in the place – the music of the water falling into still, deep pools of pristine water. The sandy floors echoing with our footsteps, the echo of voices on jeweled domes far above our heads. A place like this would have been breathtaking on any occasion, but superimposed over the gore of a hopeless battle, it was heaven itself.

Not to say we stopped fighting, of course. We repulsed attack after attack – I bit an orc with an iron collar, and my master took a bit of a blow to the head, but through it all, I caught him stealing glances at the crystals glinting in the walls, the untouched marble, the chambers that seemed to lead to yet other chambers, seeming to go on forever, all crying out for the skilled touch of a dwarf's hand to tease them forth into their full glory.

The night came to an end at last, and so did the battle. When we finally reached the others, Gimli approached Legolas. “Forty-two, Master Legolas!” he cried. And he even mentioned my injury! “Alas, my blade is notched: the forty-second had an iron collar on his neck.” I would have swelled with pride, were that physiologically possible.

“You have passed my score by one,” said the Elf, actually gracious in his defeat. His bow and knives winked at me, but I pretended not to notice. We had won, but more important, Gimli had found a future in the Caverns of Helm's Deep. We would return some day, I was sure of it.

[DoctorGamgee]

I didn't get to play, but I'll add one too (and encourage others to join in!):

Home, at last!

Perhaps that is a silly thing to say, as it was the dwarves that had abandoned the Lonely Mountain, where I have remained these many years with my crystalline surfaces resonating with the Dragon's song. The screams of Smaug's arrival caught them unaware, as fire and malevolence burned them out. The sudden silence in the hall was only disturbed by the scrape of scales as the treasures they lovingly created were scraped into the great hall, to become the bed of the beast.

At first, I was unaware of the soft thrumming, but as the years passed, I came to realize that silence only came when Smaug was out hunting. When he returned, the pit of fire in his belly and the slow breathing as he slept had set up a resonance within the hall that I soon learned was part of Dragon lore. Marking his treasures as his own, and my facets took them like light and wove them into a signature that could not be mistaken. Smaug knew where the heart of the Mountain was, even when aloft. I knew I would know no other master as long as he was here. Or so I thought.

But then, the burglar had come. At the soft footsteps and gentle crossing of the gold, at first I had thought it might be a rat, or some other scavenger. But there was a duel presence when he drew near that intrigued me. A living creature, but veined as ore is, a mixture of opposing forces that simultaneously welcomed and frightened me.

Humans are fools. They think stone is unfeeling and cold. But dwarves always understood us, and knew we could tell much about those who handled us. This burglar was an unknown. I had been in the mind of a dragon for too long, and after all of my years it was a surprise to see something new. So I refracted the light just to get its attention. The gentleness of his hands as he sought me out told me he was not neither human nor dwarf or elf. I thought for a moment that he might be a wizard, but his stature was too small, and the power I felt radiating from him seemed external, rather than internal. I really should have paid more attention to it at the time, but he was a puzzle, and I was out of practice...

The reverence for me when he picked me up was almost dwarven. It didn't look at me with greed or calculation, but rather awe and wonder. But it had neither the creative spark a dwarf would have felt, or the desire to change me into something new or set me in gold that would have sparked human. In its thoughts were kindness and gentleness, a desire to do what was right, but not sure how to do it.

But all of this was swept aside when the gold band on its finger grazed me as it set me in its pocket. I had known that feel, from the dwarf-lords whom Angmar had befriended. Those with bands such as this never came to a good end. I almost cried out to the Dragon, but stopped myself when I realized that the mystic vines that held fast Angmar and his followers hearts seemed to find no purchase in the burglar. And this too surprised me. So I kept quite and waited.

Good thing I did! He brought me into the presence of Dawrves! Unless you are of the earth, it is impossible to explain the kinship felt in their presence. I was sure he was going to hand me over, but he had second thoughts. And when I was finally discovered, Thrain's son was so angry, I feared for us both.

Much later, the hobbit (his name was Bilbo, as I learned from Thorin) was brought before the king and forgiven. The old king understood what I had felt in Bilbo's heart, and no greed had kept them apart. Bilbo didn't want me, and was relieved when I was laid upon the breast of the King Under the Mountain.

He understood.

I was home, at last.

[daughter_of_kings]

Excellent story, Dr.G! So glad you could join in the fun, even though you missed the party!



Here's mine:

The apple barrel waited patiently in the cellar of the Elf-king. Patience is a critical characteristic of a good apple barrel, as most of one’s life is spent waiting – waiting to be filled, waiting to be emptied, waiting to be tossed out of the cellar to drift down the Forest River to Lake-town. This particular apple barrel liked to while away the hours remembering its youth as a stout oak tree, and thinking treeish thoughts about warm earth, or fluttering summer breezes that susserated through its leaves, or the deep cool water from the spring snowmelt that puddled around its roots. Now it rarely felt any of those things, but still, life was good. Its thoughts turned, ponderously, to its last load – fresh, crisp summer apples that carried their own memories of The Wood, but also smelled of the promise of new life. In the morning, the barrel would begin another journey down the Forest River to seek out the next batch of apples, but for now it waited, and thought of Spring.

The barrel was abruptly awakened from its thoughts as a decidedly not-apple cargo clambered into its tub, and another creature (who was not an orchardman, though it smelled a bit like one, stuffed a quantity of straw inside with the creature and fastened the barrel’s lid into place. Such a thing had never happened before in the barrel’s life! It was an apple barrel, meant for hauling apples, not this… What was it, anyway, the barrel wondered. It stank of dried meat and cheap beer… no fit food for an Elf-king, certainly. But it also smelled of deep earth; not a nice loamy nurturing smell, such as the barrel had liked when it was tree, no, but rather the hard, dry dusty smell of the bones of the earth. The barrel reached back into its furthest memories and beyond, to the collective memory of the forest, and found a name for the creature – Dwarf.

Suddenly, the barrel felt a shove, and a shiver of anticipation ran through it: the time had come for another float down the river! It rolled happily along the cellar floor and through the trapdoor. A short drop and a Splash! into the cold water of the river, and the barrel was on its way, jostling along with passel of its brothers, cousins and closest friends. There was a brief pause at the portcullis, and then the big gate was raised, and like runners reacting to the starter’s pistol, the barrels went racing along, good-naturedly ribbing each other as they jockeyed for position. Eventually, the river widened and slowed, and the barrels all bobbed along more peaceably. The apple barrel learned that a round dozen of its brethren also carried dwarves, while the not-an-orchardman clung to one of the largest of their cadre. This was a mystery that neither the barrel nor its brethren could fathom. Never in the memory of the forest had dwarves traveled this way. They pondered this mystery throughout the night as they drifted down the river, by discussion in low murmurs or in silent contemplation, and grew no closer to understanding.

After some time, the flotilla halted for a short rest. Per the usual routine, there was a short flurry of activity as a bevy of Elves and Lake-men shuffled the barrels into ranks and roped them together. That done, the barrel drifted off, but sleep was elusive and its dreams were full of axes and fire, and it was relieved to rouse and continue the journey when dawn broke.

The following day was sunny and warm for an autumn day, which is to say that the sun was a bit weak and the breeze carried the slightest nip of winter. The barrel tried to lose itself in remembrances of summer days and apple blossoms, as the raft was steered by the competent Lake-men, but found itself distracted by the diminutive omnivore huddled within. It tried to eject its bung, but was wedged up too tightly against its brother barrels. It tried to dislodge its lid, but that was sealed securely. Eventually, like an itch you cannot reach to scratch, the barrel became obsessed with ridding itself of the smell of dwarf. Alas, its iron-banded will was insufficient to the task. What was in ordinary circumstances a pleasant voyage became an interminable annoyance.

Luckily for all involved, the dwarves and their hobbit companion reached the end of their river ride as the sun went down. Some of the barrels were half drowned, as they had not been so tightly sealed and their dwarven contents made them less buoyant. Others, like the apple barrel, had arrived in good physical condition but mentally a bit off their rockers.

“I hope I never smell the smell of dwarf again!” the barrel groaned to its brothers. My tub was full of it. To smell dwarf everlastingly when you are stuffed to the brim and can scarcely move, and to reek of meat and beer and cold hard stone when there is no produce section to be found and no compost-amended earth to eat is maddening. I would carry any crop in the whole wide world now, for days on end – but not a dwarf!”

[DoctorGamgee]

AnnaEstel, as I read yours, I could hear the words coming out of your mouth. Inflection and all. Delightful!!!

Firiel, you capture the scene beautifully! And the winking bow--brilliant!

DoK, I just had to giggle at the poor barrel's fit of pique. The audacity of holding anything but apples in an apple barrel. 😉

Well done, y'all!