Syntax Fluff n' Stuff

by jan-u-wine

A Doctor Who-LOTR crossover based on a whofic by Primula - quite a convoluted pedigree. 
The original short humorous tale involving semi-sentient white fluff may be found here: 'The Annual UNIT Picnic'.

Being a Memoir of a Timely Encounter in Rivendell

Master Frodo Baggins did not, of course, know any aliens. 

In point of fact, such was not precisely the case. Frodo was cheek-to-jowl with many an alien (as well as tooth-to-finger, but that is another, *later* bit (!)of his tale). 

Being a gentle-hobbit of the Third Age, however, he did not call any of these .....acquaintances "aliens". Although 'foul dwimmerlaik' (an expression he cribbed from The White Lady of Rohan, aka Eowyn, aka, you get the point!), was known to pass his lips upon occasion, he preferred, in speech, (as in All Things Frodo)to underplay.  Naming an unknown (and po-ten-tially dangerous) entity a 'creature' was as bad as Baggins got.

Thus it was that Frodo was at a stupendous, tongue-tied, flummoxed, ab-fab, gob-smacked loss during what he afterward thought of as The Mysterious Rain in Rivendell.

It was not a proper rain, no, nor could it have been deemed a snow (which Frodo had never seen, but he was quite certain that the white stuff falling through the air, though very pretty, could NOT be snow).

In any case, be it rain or snow...or....creature, it got in the way of Frodo's First Afternoon-Up Constitutional, fluff-bumping his nose annoyingly and clinging oddly to his still but-one-inch-from-death-pale cheek. 

Being the exceptional and brave person that he was (and is, of course), Frodo walked on, trying not to notice that there seemed to be quite a lot of the fluffy oddments clinging to him, the silk of them shining like  little down sun-bursts......

And then the very oddest thing of all happened.  There was both a loud (and strange!) noise (Frodo could only describe it, after, as the way the Sea would howl....if, indeed, it could), and the air immediately to the left of Lord Elrond's sun-dial shimmered, as if opal sand had been thrown into the sun.  And when the air-furrows had smoothed themselves more or less into Elven normalcy, there, within the autumn hues of solemn Rivendell, stood a Very Red Gardener's Shed.

Frodo immediately looked about for Sam.  He didn't want the lad to see such a thing, else he would surely want one for the Bag End garden, and Frodo was quite certain that such a garish display should never (dis)grace the Hill. 

Samwise was nowhere in evidence, but someone else.........was.

He might well have been Peregrin Took's brother, this stranger....he might well have been, that is, if Pippin were twice his hobbity height.  And yet, this man (for man he was) was very like Pip, from his decidedly rash-and-rascally, curious eyes, down to the careless (yet obviously prized) scarf flung about his neck.

Speaking of felt as if the white, fluffy creatures were making a banquet of Frodo's.   This was not a good thing, as there was more than just a neck of swan-white within the collar of his shirt.  There was, as well, the Ring, and he'd no idea what might happen to It (or the creatures), should they meet.  Ring-fluff?  Down-Ring-Syndrome?   Dandy-Lyin'-Ring? 

Thankfully (for both Frodo and the reader), he was destined never to find out.   With a stride almost as wide as The-One-Who-Is-Otherwise-Known-As-Long-shanks, the stranger closed the distance between himself and Frodo and his Spore-addict necklace. In a move also reminiscent of a Weathertopian Ranger, fire sprouted from a small device (which appeared, to Frodo's Third Age eye, like a candle made of naught save a wick) and caught at the unhappy fluppy-muppies festooning the Ringbearer's pure-as-Shire-clouds throat.

As quick as one might say, "the Ring will go to Gondor!" (and be EVER so wrong on that count), the strange drifters fell away, tiny thistle-notes (and the scent of burnt coconut)marking their passage. Just as quickly, the stranger lifted his hat (which accessory he most surely did NOT share with Pippin), twined his scarf securely once again about his neck, and stepped back into the red-and-gilt shed.  Again, the odd noise scraped at Frodo's ears, and the air shimmered and danced.

When he came to himself again, Frodo decided that it really all must have been a dreme.  Only a dreme, and he'd had much worse ones since his wounding.  He liked Rivendell, really he did.....even if it was home to  the most astounding.....



                        Thankfully, the End.