December Challenge
Title: You Can't Take It With You...
Author: fanged_geranium
Rating: General
Warnings: None
Summary: As the Noldor prepare to leave Tirion, Turgon wonders why Finrod is taking so long to pack
You Can't Take It With You...
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work.
Turgon paced back and forth, waiting for his cousin to emerge from his room. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Finrod, hurry up will you? Everyone else has left already, including your father."
"Just a minute, Turgon," came the reply, "Orodreth and I have a few more things to pack, then we'll be right with you."
Almost an hour later Turgon was still waiting. He tried to open the door, but it was bolted from the inside. "Look, Finrod, we've got a long way to walk to get to Middle-earth, and you can't take the kitchen sink, you know."
"We won't be long now," called Finrod, "just a couple more items and we'll be done."
There was a loud crashing sound, and Orodreth shrieked. "Ouch, that really hurt, Uncle Finrod!" he squealed.
"I told you to keep your fingers clear of the catch, you silly boy," shouted Finrod.
Turgon resumed pacing, and eventually heard the bolts being drawn back. Finrod and Orodreth emerged, each carrying two cases - or rather dragging them across the floor.
"Shall I take one your cases, Orodreth?" asked Turgon, trying to forget his irritation.
"No thanks," said Orodreth, "and they aren't mine. Mother packed my clothes in her luggage this morning. Not that you can call it morning now that it's dark all the time."
Turgon shrugged. He assumed that Finrod had bribed Orodreth with something - candy, perhaps - and the boy didn't want to miss out on his treat. No doubt Idril would be just the same, in a year or two. "Would you like me to see if there's any room left in Fëanor's wagons?" he said.
"No, that's quite alright," said Finrod, "I'll keep all this with me. Some of it might come in useful."
"Won't it be hard work to carry all that for however many thousand miles it is to Morgoth's lair?" Turgon asked, glad that he would not have to do likewise. Apart from a few essentials, all his things were travelling by cart.
"I suppose we might have to stop for a rest every now and then, but we'll catch up. There's no hurry."
As they left Finarfin's house for the final time, Turgon thought he could hear gold clinking in one of the suitcases. He dismissed the idea at once. Finrod was a sensible fellow - he wouldn't take something as unnecessary as his jewellery collection to Middle-earth.
Author: fanged_geranium
Rating: General
Warnings: None
Summary: As the Noldor prepare to leave Tirion, Turgon wonders why Finrod is taking so long to pack
You Can't Take It With You...
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work.
Turgon paced back and forth, waiting for his cousin to emerge from his room. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Finrod, hurry up will you? Everyone else has left already, including your father."
"Just a minute, Turgon," came the reply, "Orodreth and I have a few more things to pack, then we'll be right with you."
Almost an hour later Turgon was still waiting. He tried to open the door, but it was bolted from the inside. "Look, Finrod, we've got a long way to walk to get to Middle-earth, and you can't take the kitchen sink, you know."
"We won't be long now," called Finrod, "just a couple more items and we'll be done."
There was a loud crashing sound, and Orodreth shrieked. "Ouch, that really hurt, Uncle Finrod!" he squealed.
"I told you to keep your fingers clear of the catch, you silly boy," shouted Finrod.
Turgon resumed pacing, and eventually heard the bolts being drawn back. Finrod and Orodreth emerged, each carrying two cases - or rather dragging them across the floor.
"Shall I take one your cases, Orodreth?" asked Turgon, trying to forget his irritation.
"No thanks," said Orodreth, "and they aren't mine. Mother packed my clothes in her luggage this morning. Not that you can call it morning now that it's dark all the time."
Turgon shrugged. He assumed that Finrod had bribed Orodreth with something - candy, perhaps - and the boy didn't want to miss out on his treat. No doubt Idril would be just the same, in a year or two. "Would you like me to see if there's any room left in Fëanor's wagons?" he said.
"No, that's quite alright," said Finrod, "I'll keep all this with me. Some of it might come in useful."
"Won't it be hard work to carry all that for however many thousand miles it is to Morgoth's lair?" Turgon asked, glad that he would not have to do likewise. Apart from a few essentials, all his things were travelling by cart.
"I suppose we might have to stop for a rest every now and then, but we'll catch up. There's no hurry."
As they left Finarfin's house for the final time, Turgon thought he could hear gold clinking in one of the suitcases. He dismissed the idea at once. Finrod was a sensible fellow - he wouldn't take something as unnecessary as his jewellery collection to Middle-earth.