The 24 Days of Christmas Challenge

Day 22: Three Tipsy Trolls

A gentle ringing in the air brought Frodo outside of Bag End as he tried to discern what was causing the disturbance. As he stood there staring off into the distance he was joined shortly by Samwise and Arwen, who were helping Frodo redecorate the second spare room.
“What is it we’re staring at?” Inquired Sam after they had been standing there for about five minutes.
“It looks like an airplane.” Surmised Arwen.
“Ooo.. Airmail’s here!” Sam squealed in delight.
“I can finally get my replacement Evenstar pendant! These babies just break too easily!” Arwen commented excitedly.
“And my life-size Legolas cardboard cut-out!” Said Sam.
“Don’t be silly, airplanes haven’t been invented yet. I’d say it looks more like a sleigh.” Frodo said quickly, as both he and Arwen cast long glances at Sam.
And he was proven right, as the object grew closer to the three watchers they could clearly see a large sleigh being pulled across the sky by eight reindeer.
Within a few minutes more they could make out a large bearded man dressed in a dark red cloak perched in the front of the sleigh behind several bags.
“I think he’s heading right for us.” Said Sam worryingly.
“Well it wouldn’t be much of a story if he ‘vanished into the distance never to be seen again.' Now would it?” Frodo answered sharply.
“But where’s he going to land?” Asked Arwen, looking at the more than uneven surface around Bag End.
“Sam you grab my glow-in-the-dark Sting, Arwen take the Gimli night-light and we’ll see if we can wave him down near the party field.” Frodo replied as his companions immediately went to retrieved their items from the house.
They ran down to the field holding their lights high above their heads as the sleigh came in for landing. It rushed over their heads with a loud jingle of bells, coming to rest a few feet away from the panting Sam.
“So I take it you’re Father Christmas?” Frodo asked of the red-cloaked driver.
“Ho ho ho! And Merry Christmas to you my friends!” He responded jollily with a smile as he climbed down from the sleigh. “Father Christmas is what some call me!”
“But Father Christmas doesn’t exist…” Sam said worryingly.
“It’s ok Sam, we don’t exist either.” Frodo said comforting his friend.
“What do you mean we don’t exist?” He said, getting himself quite confused.
“We’re fictional characters in a story, Sam.” Arwen told him.
“But if I don’t exist, that means….” And with a sudden *Poof* sound, Sam vanished into thin air to be replaced by a small puff of smoke.
“Don’t worry, he does that all the time. So you’re a bit early.” Arwen said turning back to Father Christmas and looking sideways at the big bags on the back.
“Well you know, there’s lots of traffic on the roads around this time of year. Got to add in some extra travelling time” He replied.
“But you’re a full three days early, and you flew!” Frodo said looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“Well I’ve been kept from this land for over a hundred years by the Witch’s cruel winter. Her magic is fading and Christmas has finally come!” He announced to the two remaining friends.
“Mmm… Santa, wrong book.” Frodo informed him quietly.
“This isn’t Narnia? Maybe NeverNeverland? You look a little young for your age. My in-sleigh SatNav keeps getting those too mixed up.” He said.
“Nope, this is Middle-Earth. You know, The One Ring, fight against darkness, made into three movies?” Arwen told him.
“And you’re also three days early. We’re only up to day 22 of the Yuletide Challenge. Still got three something or others to come, followed by 2 odd creatures, and 1 rhyming item.” Frodo said assuredly, quickly looking upwards to check the title of this story.
“Well shall I give out the gifts now then? Or wait until Sunday?” Father Christmas said worringly.
“As if anyone will read this and notice, come on dish out the presents!” Arwen replied quickly, eyeing up the large parcel ontop of the first bag.
“Firstly I have 24 ballet shoes for the Dancing Dwarves…” He said as they wandered into this story from stage left. Deftly picking up each pair of shoes as they passed Santa, they then began arguing over where to sit to tie them up.
“Secondly, here are 23 carrots on a stick for the Obstinate Oliphaunts…” Holding them out in front of him, the Oliphaunts charged into the story, narrowly missing the still-shoe-tying Dwarves huddle in the corner.
“Thirdly, here’s 22 bottles of gin for the 22 Red Rangers…” Who each grabbed a bottle and wandered round the story to hide beneath the Oliphaunt’s tails.
“Hang on Santa, are we going though ALL of the previous days?” Frodo interrupted, struggling to squeeze between a not-so-sober Ranger and a surly Dwarf.
“Why not, we’ve got enough time!” He replied merrily then continued to delve into the bags. “Fourthly, 21 loofahs for the Ornery Orcs…” They paraded in quickly, seizing their loofahs and instantly began to rub their backs as they tried to find were to turn on the water in the Oliphaunts.
“Fifthly, 20 pairs of glasses for the Gawking Gondorians…” Who just entered into the story and stopped at the first paragraph, seized by the spectacle inside.
“Sixthly, 19 tickets for a free massage for the Weary Wargs…” They tried to enter the story but were held in a queue behind the Gondorians and so decided it would be better just to sleep right here anyway.
“Seventhly, 18 bottles of truth serum for the Earnest Ents…” Who decided they were too hasty to wait for the Gondorians and Wargs to move, so ripped a hole in the side of the story and clambered over the excited Oliphaunts.
“Eighthly, 17 games of scrabble for the Cunning Corsairs…” Being a more intelligent lot, they slipped in one by one to retrieve their gifts then climbed up onto the top of one of the wandering Oliphaunts to watch the growing masses.
“Ninthly, 16 packets of throat lozenges for the Singing Eagles…” As each one swooped down, grabbed their packet then perched lightly atop of the Ents before breaking out into a full recital of The Pirates of Penzance.
“Tenthly, 15 bottle of deodorant for the Hot Haradrim…” It didn’t take long for them to get their presents as everyone quickly shuffled out of the way as they walked by.
“This could take a while.” Arwen commented, before being grabbed by a passing Dwarf and joining an impromptu rendition of the Nutcracker Suite.
“Eleventhly, 14 books on the easiest way to make quick decisions for the Fickle Valar…” Who each came in and decided that the book wasn’t really worth the bother but picked it up anyway, hoping that they could use it as a late Christmas present to someone they didn’t like.
“Twelvthly, 13 everlasting gobstoppers for the Giggling Gamgees…” Who despite having their mouths full, continued to giggle anyway which woke the sleeping Wargs who in turn attacked the Orcs while looking for a quick meal.
“Thirteenthly, 12 feather boas for the Tickly Uruk-hai…” The first one who managed to squeeze through the myriad of people collected in the story already took one look at the feathers then began screaming in an unusually high-pitched voice. This was shortly followed by his twelve other members, who with the giggling Gamgees and singing Eagles managed to create quite a racket.
“You know, that story was my favourite.” Frodo told one of the Ents, having to shout to make himself heard. “Hilarious stuff really. Although I’m not quite sure there is such a word as ‘Thirteenthly’ to be honest.”
“I don’t see why not, it’s a perfectly reasonable ordinal number…” Commented one of the Valar, looking at Frodo over a pair of thick spectacles.
“Ahhhhh, that was a good story! A great story! One of the best stories ever! Better than the whole world! Better than the whole universe! Fantastic!” One of the Rangers said, before collapsing unconcious on the floor.
“I’m not one for computers really.” Father Christmas said as he rummaged through the empty sacks for the next presents. “The missus is the one that does all that sort of thing. The moment I go near the blasted machine it starts making rude beeping noises!”
“Found it! Fourteenthly, 11 cans of bug-spray for the Stupid Spiders…” Who each managed to scamper into the story and collect their gifts, before experimenting with the cans and spraying it on each other, swiftly reducing their number.
“Fifteenthly, 10 pairs of rollerskates for the Wicked Walkers…” However the walkers received so many boos as the entered that the middle one fainted and had to be walked to his psychologist by the other nine.
“Sixteenthly, 9 sessions with a hypnotist for the Nervous Nazgûl…” But they proved too afraid to interrupt the proceedings to get their gift, and instead just loitered outside the story attempting to provoke the hungry Wargs.
“Seventeenthly, 8 bottles of sedatives for the Eager Elves…” Who before going to Santa first rearranged everyone in the story into their respective places, did a quick clean and dust of the already read pages, ran a spell check, cleared up after the Oliphaunts and Wargs, emptied the Recycle Bin and generally made a nuisance of themselves.
“I thought the Elves were actually rather good.” One of the Corsairs said to a Haradrim, who didn’t really seem to be paying attention before getting quickly relocated to the far end of the paragraph.
“Eighteenthly, 7 mini-umbrellas for the Soggy Crebain…” Their damp arrival caused so much of a fuss by the Elves that they were quickly pushed off with broomsticks held high in the air.
“Nineteenthly, 6 bottles of sun-tan cream for the Sexy Rohirrim…” It was at this point that everyone stopped their respective activities (except the Elves) and gawked at the ladies as they strolled slowly in. The Gondorians had several heart attacks as the women poised for photoshoots before each giving Santa a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Well, that wasn’t altogether bad. Mmm, Twentiethly, 5 coyotes for the Wily Wizards…” Each of the wizards look strangely at Santa as he gave them a pet before someone realised that they would be wily coyote wizards and kept making “Beep! Beep!” noises in the background.
“Twenty-firstly, 4 bandages and antiseptic wipes for the Frolicking Hobbits…” They made their entrance by rolling in two at at a time, playfully landing in a bundle at Father Christmas’s feet before being administered to by the Elves.
“So Santa, what about today?” Arwen asked, having been a bit put out by the parading Rohirrim and hoping to get at least something for her troubles today.
“Mmmm, well, I need 3 Tipsy Trolls, and they don’t seem to have arrived yet…” He replied, looking off into the distance of the next page and only seeing more Oliphaunts.
And with that Frodo grabbed Arwen by the hand, and one of the more inebriated Rangers, then rushed off into the next sentence.
“We’re your Trolls!” Said Frodo and Arwen behind plastic Troll masks, dragging behind them a similarly attired and gagged Ranger. “See, he’s almost catatonic with drink!”
“Something doesn’t really make sense about this, but since I’ve got to be off in about two minutes you can have them anyway.” And so Father Christmas handed Frodo, Arwen and the mumbling Ranger each a facial scrub kit, then mounted his sleigh and waved to the crowd.
“Goodbye Santa!!” Most of the 294 assorted beings that were somewhere in the story and hadn’t been killed or knocked unconcious cried out.
“I was hoping for something a bit… bigger. Possibly with diamonds, or gold.” Arwen said trying to open her gift. “Ooo… coconut butter! My favourite!
“This has been one of the worse Yuletide stories yet.” Frodo said, looking strangely at his gift. “What am I suppose to do with this anyway?”
- Laiquendi

The Muse

‘Hey, ho to the bottle I go,’ “Oh no,” Sam groaned aloud, “wrong song, but kind of appropriate when writing about three tipsy trolls.

Frodo laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“Bilbo’s trolls. I got to thinking about them this morning, while weeding the garden. Some of those weeds needed a troll to pull them up. Even with the new mining tools Gimli gave me, I still had trouble doing it.”

“What! What about the soil Galadriel gave you? Wouldn’t it help keep the weeds away?”

“No. Weeds seem to love the stuff. Everything seems to love the stuff. I’m doomed.”

“Then why aren’t you out in the garden?”

“I told you. I got thinking about the trolls and I had to write. Something called a Muse keeps yelling at me. Won’t leave me alone, so I came in here and I intend to write until I’m finished. But I’ve lost my thought and can’t find it.”

“Trolls. Well, you could write about when we found the stone ones.”

“No. I wanted to write about live ones. Ah!” he shrieked (most unusual for Sam), “I remember now. ‘Troll sat alone on a seat of stone..’ He smiled broadly. “That’s better!”


Out of their cave and under the trees,
Trolls in a trio went scratching their fleas,
Three tipsy trolls weeble-wobbled around,
Trolls may be tipsy, but they don't fall down.

Sauced from the morning, sauced in the night,
Stocked up with kegs taken from those affright,
Often they ran into tree, hedge or bramble,
Three tipsy trolls weeble-wobbled and rambled.

It wasn't a wonder they didn't know squat
About dwarves, burra-hobbits or all of that rot;
If it wasn't a keg, nice and full, or a bottle,
They hadn't a thought but to weeble their wobble.

Morning it came, as they wobbled and fought,
Instructing other to do wot was wot,
Trolls all a-stone they now stand, birdnest crowned,
For these trolls weeble-wobbled but never fell down!
- Primula