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Author Topic: What is ‘salad’?  (Read 1348 times)


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What is ‘salad’?
« on: August 27, 2014, 02:41:00 PM »
Fíli was not sure what to make of Rivendell and was in fact rather tortured by his conflicting emotions.  On the one hand, the Elven stronghold was beautiful, truly resplendent without being gaudy.  It stole his breath clean away and the prince took every opportunity he could to stare out at the valley.  The surroundings were threaded with silver streams and rivers, the whisper and rumble of which were faintly audible wherever one went.  Far from irritating, it was strangely musical and comforting.  Even the light seemed to take on a different quality here.  Though that was perhaps due in part to the copious amounts of wine he had been drinking.  On the other hand, it was an Elven stronghold.  That meant – as nephew to Thorin and one of the noble and royal line of Durin – he was supposed to revile this place on all levels.

He didn’t.  Admittedly the Dwarf prince could never live in a place like this but that did not mean he did not see its beauty.

Fíli was sat at the table with his kin, eating in their typical rambunctious fashion.  The prince reached for a fancy wrought pitcher that held the wine.  Only, when he tilted it, he found it was empty save for a drop.  Shooting a mutinous look at Dwalin, the last one to pour – then promptly wilting at the fearsome Dwarf’s returned expression – Fíli sighed dramatically and heaved himself to his feet, ornate jug in hand, his chair screeching against the polished floor.  He was buzzing quite happily.  Apparently the, ah, ‘plants’ (salad?) the Elves ate did little to line the stomach.  And their wine was potent.  Fíli would give them that.

Ruffling his free hand through his blond hair, the prince tried to work out just who he needed to address on the matter of this wine shortage.  At the table, a food fight had broken out and a small seeded bread roll soared through the air to bounce harmlessly off his golden head.  Judging by the roar of laughter that followed, led by his dear little brother, Kíli had something to do with the keen shot.  Fíli poked the tip of his tongue out at them all before honing in on a regal and serious looking dark-haired Elf that lingered on the edge of the hall.

The Elf looked caught between discomfited and vaguely repulsed.  Unfortunately for him, Fíli decided it was his mission – nay, his duty – as visiting royal to put this fellow at ease.  If he happened to weasel some more wine out of him in the process, well, that would be a bonus.

“Greetings!”  Fíli chirped happily, the vino satisfying him in a way the salad failed to.  “No need to look so worried, there won’t be a riot.  At least I don’t think so...”  Fíli turned his gaze back to the chaotic scene spread out before them.  Really, it was difficult to say.  Dwalin was profoundly irritated by the lack of meat.  Wars had been started for less.


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What is ‘salad’?
« Reply #1 on: September 11, 2014, 08:15:00 PM »
'At least they hadn't started throwing things.'

But that was small comfort to the elf who lingered there, a watchful shadow on the edge of the hall.  Ostensibly, he was there to see that everything ran smoothly and all reasonable requests were seen too.  Lord Elrond had specifically emphasized the word reasonable.

And, while they were a raucous bunch, so far this particular evening things had so far remained under control.

So far.  It was still early, after all.

Granted, there was a sizable wine stain on the rug under one chair, and he counted one cracked goblet, two broken plates, and a fork with tines bent beyond all reasonable repair.  He supposed he should be thankful, at least, that most of them seem to have forgone the use of cutlery and other civilized utensils in favor of their own fingers.  But that was alright, they could always throw out that set of napkins.

He repeated to himself, silently, 'At least they haven't started throwing things...'

Then... it appeared he'd thought too soon.  First it was a roll.  Then a handful of spinach.  After that, there was little distinguishing what foodstuffs were being thrown about in the burgeoning food fight.

And so, though far from enjoying his task, Lindir was quite content to remain where he was, unobtrusive and undisturbed - except by his own silent speculations on the amount of time it was going to take to clean up the mess after the dwarves all stumbled off to their guest quarters.

'Wait... what?  No.  No.

One of them was coming his way.  Well, more or less coming his way.  

'Don't come over here.  No.  Stop.  No.'  

The dwarf seemed to have been enjoying the wine, and his course wended a bit to one side, then the other, but then he called out to Lindir in greeting.  No getting away now.

Carefully, he gave a nod of his head, and did his best to do away with whatever expression led the dwarf to think him concerned.  (He was marginally successful at it.)  "Good evening, Master Dwarf," he said, the epitome of practiced politeness.  "I thank you for your assurances, however -"

Somewhere in the midst of the food fight, there was a sudden, loud, very wet splat, followed by a roar of outrageous laughter.  Lindir's left eye twitched, just barely, but he didn't look to see what fresh horror would await the cleaning staff.

"...I wonder if, perhaps, your confidence is misplaced."

Was that a joke?  It was so difficult to tell with elves.


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What is ‘salad’?
« Reply #2 on: December 16, 2014, 04:34:00 AM »
(OOC:  Apologies for taking so long to reply to this, dear!  BotFA had the positive effect of poking my Fíli muse and now he just won’t shush.  My next reply won’t take so long, promise.  Also, I absolutely positively adore Lindir! <3)

Elves were so polite!  Fíli wondered vaguely if the guilt of how they had once treated his ancestors had something to do with it, or if it was simply because they were guests in these halls.  Either way, Gandalf had done well in bringing them here – not that the prince would dare say so in front of his brooding uncle.  At least they could rest up and enjoy themselves a little.  Or a lot.

Fíli squinted his eyes, trying to focus on the swirl of chaos around the dining table, but could not quite ascertain what had made that loud splat sound.  It was difficult to see what precisely was going on, given how many various food items were presently zooming through the air.  His brethren were not exactly helping his cause.  Despite this, his immediate reaction was to roar with laughter and clap a gauntleted hand against his new (if somewhat unwilling) companion’s shoulder.  In his tipsy state, Fíli forgot just how tall the fair folk were, so the well-meant blow caught the Elf in the small of his back instead.  “Ah, so they’re a little rowdy…”  Fíli agreed, his face splitting with a grin that he quickly tried to gloss over with a more neutral, if not exactly disapproving, expression.

Then he stroked his beard in a manner that was supposed to be thoughtful but was entirely at odds with the unfocused look in his drunken blue eyes.  “You know what might settle them?”  Fíli asked boldly, taking a chance and flashing what he hoped was both a winning and charming smile – not seeing how roguish it actually appeared.  “More wine.  Honestly, it’ll put them right to sleep, and you can get back to, ah, whatever it is you do around here.”  Which prompted a look of mild confusion and interest in the young Dwarf’s features.  “What is it you do, Mr…?  Maker, I don’t even know your name!  Forgive me.  I’m Fíli.”  He nodded his golden head politely, thinking that he would have kept his birth name secret if his uncle had not already been identified.  Keeping shtum now would be like locking the horse after the stable had… wait, that wasn’t right.  Fíli’s slightly dazed expression deepened – the vino was effecting him more than he had realised.

Tags: t.a. 2941 lindir 

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