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Summary: A killer plant arrives in Imladris by way of a raven plop and sets about killing off all of Glorfindel's abusive linden flowers. Lindir decides to save it from Glorfindel's Rivendell Roundup.
~~~
The ravens did not bother to
circle Rivendell when they arrived at the house. They were not the sort
of creatures that saw any point in flashy little displays of flying
prowess save to speed one to the date of one's death at the teeth of
something further up the food chain. Instead, they flew direct into
the realm in one big black cloud and with a soft flutter of wings, a
few bickering caws, and a clattering of claws, swooped down to land
(awkwardly) on the claw-unfriendly windowsills and rooftop of the elven
house.
They came to Imladris every
year for as long as they could remember. Rain or shine, war or peace,
permitted or not, the ravens always came. For today was a special day
in Rivendell. It was a day on which all ravens could have a little laugh
at the antics of one particular elf that most ravens widely believed
thought he was a raven. This day was the day on which Counsellor Erestor,
wearer of black and black feathers and flapper of arms and possessor
of a raven-like voice would shrug off his hermit lifestyle, stalk out
of the house, and for the whole day from dawn to dusk, indulge the onlooking
ravens with raven-like behaviour as he played dress-up and posed for
his annual silly portrait.
Today, Master Erestor was showing
off a magnificent second millennia, Second Age of the Sun, Nandorin
black dress beside a linden bed at one side of the house. After some
croaky debate, the ravens decided that Erestor was not dressing up as
their mother-in-laws, but instead – and this was supported by the
unignorable presence of a large mooing creature to whose nipples Erestor's
lily pale hands seemed to have an intense attachment – was pretending
to be a milkmaid.
Also today, one particular
raven was suffering, as occasionally happens when a raven forgets to
say their daily prayers to Yavanna, from a bad stomach ache and was
increasingly finding its gaze drawn away from milkmaid Erestor and the
painter's easel, and towards the small darkly coloured puckered circle
at the rear end of the cow.
When, around midday, this raven
observed the circle twitch and emit a few fat droppings, it gave a little
empathic squawk, ruffled its feathers, and its own sphincter dilated
hugely so that a steady stream of dropping shot down into the bed of
linden bushes directly below. Then, on suddenly finding its stomach
ache gone, the raven flapped its wings enthusiastically and returned
its attention to the show, unaware of the stream of arguably unfortunate
events that its little want for a toilet and its own questionable diet
of strange exotic seeds had sparked.
~*~
"You are no ordinary plant,"
was the remark that greeted the plant's first nervous shoot, a few weeks
after Erestor had framed his latest portrait and hung it behind his
desk, much to the unamusement of his stuffier colleagues. And this,
as the dainty little plant with pretty yellow-pink blossoms would find
out, was a label that would stick with it for the rest of its days.
Its seedling days, in the linden
patch beside one of the walls of Rivendell, were not happy days. The
small lindens around him pinched his roots and the large lindens held
out their big leaves and stole every ray of sunshine. It was a vicious
competition and at first the little plant, on searching for a parent
that might advise it and finding none, despaired and shrivelled and
flailed under the lindens' callous abuse of fragile strange newcomers.
But then one day, the taunts
of "orphan" and "gaudy" turned to "weed"
and "sickly" and "should be exterminated" and "where
is Lord Glorfindel the Gardener – he should put Rivendell Roundup
on this creature", his yellow-pink view turned to red and, not
really thinking, he lashed out with his tiny vines and wrapped the strong
tendrils around the accusing plants' stems and squeezed and squeezed
until they screamed abuses no more. Indeed, they screamed no more, period,
as they had died.
"Murderer! You will be
killed for certain now," a linden plant that it had missed dared
to remark. "They will know it was you. Look at all the carcasses
attached to your vines."
The blossom heads of the little
plant gulped and slowly and fearfully they turned to scan the corpses
of the murdered plants… and the almost completely deserted surrounds.
Indeed, there was only one individual there beside themselves and it
was, as usual, a certain small slender elf who was sitting on the balcony
above and completely preoccupied with playing on a harp to the exclusion
of everything else. The plant thought quickly. Then it stretched its
blossom heads wide so that a big hole in the centre of each could be
discerned, and using its vines, it stuffed each of the corpses down
the holes.
It wriggled about uncomfortably
for a bit as the bits of plant inside it settled and began to digest.
Then it let out a loud burp and smiled and looked around for its next
meal. 'Perhaps one a week,' it thought as it laid its little blossomy
eyes on the shivering linden that it had missed. And then, after swallowing
it, it thought, 'perhaps one a day.'
Three months later, the linden
bed, save for the killer plant, was completely barren. As for the little
yellow-pink blossomed plant, it was rather much bigger as it was now
able to access plenty of sunshine, all the nutrients that it could desire,
and had eaten lots of fresh vegetables.
It was then that Glorfindel
the gardener limped up, his pet hound loping at his side. Both looked
torn and bruised from many hard and painful weeks climbing and shooting
and slashing on the borders of Imladris that were closest to the goblin-infested
Misty Mountains.
The plant, abruptly reminded
of almost forgotten warnings that Glorfindel might want to put Rivendell
Roundup on it, tried to shrink as much as possible, a difficult task
as it was already over four feet and over half the size of Glorfindel,
but it tried nevertheless… and failed when Glorfindel, on spying him,
gave an almighty shout and ran right up to him. But when the elf-lord
spoke out, it was not to the plant, but to the elf sitting peaceably
plucking away at harp strings above them.
"LINDIR! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY LINDENS?"
The sweet strains of harp music came to an abrupt cracked tonal halt. The plant winced at the off-note before swivelling its blossoms so that half were focussed on the elf above and half on Glorfindel's face, which was twisted with wrath and frustration.
Lindir gracefully rose and came over to the edge of the balcony to peer over the rail and down at Glorfindel's upturned face. "Pardon, my love?" he asked.
"Where are my lindens?" Glorfindel cried. "I had a whole collection of them right here. I only planted them last season. Yet they are gone. Why?" And here he stretched out his right hand and jabbed the outstretched index finger right at the killer plant, which shrunk a little more as it confirmed its suspicions that Glorfindel's "lindens" were in fact those plants that it had so recently consumed in retribution for their teasing (and for a bit of extra nutrition).
Lindir's gaze followed Glorfindel's
outstretched finger and after a short while, his lips parted to form
a small O. "Oh, so they are…"
"So they are… what?"
"Gone."
"Aye, that is what I said,"
Glorfindel said with a frown. He put his hands on his hips.
Lindir folded his arms and
leaned further over the edge of the rail. "How curious, my love.
I wonder why."
"You should know why;
you sit on that balcony every day and have done so every day that I
have been out of the realm these past few months."
Lindir's brow rose. "Oho?
And how do you know that, my love?"
"Because I asked after
you on my return to the realm. I asked after you as naturally, the first
person I wish to see on my return is my lover, and they told me that
you have sat on that balcony every day since the day I left."
There was a silence.
"Oh," Lindir said
then, and nodded. Below and unseen by both elves, the plant's blossom
heads attentively bobbed up and down in concurrence as it also thought
that Glorfindel's reasoning was solid and made very good sense.
There was another silence.
Then Glorfindel ventured in
a more subdued voice, "So you do not know what happened to my lindens?"
Lindir shook his head. "I
do not. I am sorry, Glorfindel."
"I see." And Glorfindel
turned his head to look at the barren earth on which so recently lindens
had been sprouting and flourishing with petals fluttering with bright
contempt at the orphaned yellow-pink blossomed plant.
And then Glorfindel's eyes
fell right on the yellow-pink blossomed plant, which was still nodding
agreeably and very absent-mindedly.
And Glorfindel, on noticing
the plant and noticing what it was doing, frowned. Hard. And the killer-plant
froze and shrunk back.
"Lindir," Glorfindel
said.
"Aye?"
"What is this plant?"
"Which? Oh! That one.
I do not know what it is. I have never seen one of its like before,
but it is very pretty."
"It was nodding at me."
"Was it? Well, it must
be a very friendly little plant."
Glorfindel looked back up at
Lindir and his frown deepened. "Lindir."
"Aye, my love?"
"Plants should not be
able to nod of their own volition."
"Oh." Lindir fell
quiet and seemed to consider this for a few moments. Then he smiled
broadly. "Oh, what a clever little plant!"
"Nay, Lindir. It must
be evil."
"Eh? But why?"
Glorfindel did not respond.
Instead he turned and stalked off towards a corner of the house, leaving
his hound sniffing around in the garden bed. "I am going to fetch
some Rivendell Roundup."
"But my love, why not
first consult raven-like Erestor who knows everything and is always
right? Perhaps he introduced the plant to the bed. He had his annual
silly portrait taken here not two months ago," Lindir called after
him. "Perhaps the plant was featured."
"I do not trust anyone
who adorns their public rooms with juicy paintings of themselves dressed
as cheeky members of the opposite sex," Glorfindel called back
and then the elf-lord's tall frame disappeared around the corner of
the house and then the plant, Lindir, and the hound could no longer
see him.
The plant felt pretty miserable
as it watched the corner of the house and waited for Glorfindel to return.
It seemed that suffering was its lot in life. It looked around in search
of something to do or some way to escape, but saw nothing save for the
elf observing it with a saddened look from the balcony above and the
hound that was sniffing around the bed and getting closer and closer
and closer…
Then, all of a sudden, the
dog came right up, cocked up its leg, and…
'Oh no you do not!' the plant
thought grimly. 'Besides, I deserve a last meal.' And without further
ado it lashed out with its little tendrils and grabbed the dog and stuffed
it whole down the gullet of one of its blossoms, heedless of the minstrel
that was now staring incredulously. Let the little elf stand and stare
as much as he wanted. The plant did not care. Or at least, it did not
care until a few moments later when it suddenly observed that the elf
was no longing staring incredulously, but rather gazing at it with a
wide and rather odd smile on his face.
When Glorfindel emerged around
the corner shortly afterwards, a big tin can and spray gun in his hand
with the elven words "Rivendell Roundup" painted in bright
red on the side, the plant was then very surprised when Lindir called
out to Glorfindel. "Ai oi! My love, please do not kill that plant."
Glorfindel stopped and looked
up at Lindir. "Why not?" He brandished the spray gun. "It
killed all my lindens."
"Pretty please do not
kill it," Lindir called back. "Please, please."
"Why not?"
"I wish to observe it.
Pretty please, my love?" And Lindir pulled a most charming and
wondrous smile that had even the blossoms of the killer plant widening
and gazing at him in amazed adoration.
"Oh, well…" Glorfindel
faltered.
"I will do whatever you
wish for me to do in bed for a week," Lindir added, tilting his
head and making his already charming expression now impossibly charming
and sugar sweet.
"Oh, oh… well…"
Glorfindel said again and a pink tinge entered his cheeks. He lowered
the can and the gun. "Well, very well, then," he said then.
"As you wish. But you must take care of it." He cleared his
throat.
"Aye, aye. Thank you,"
Lindir agreed, still beaming.
There was a silence. Then Glorfindel
cleared his throat again and looked around and whistled. He was whistling
for the hound. Glorfindel whistled once, then twice, then thrice, and
then looked at Lindir. "Where did he go?"
Lindir jerked his chin towards
the river. "Down there. I lost sight of him."
Glorfindel nodded and trotted
off and after a few moments, Lindir, with another sidelong odd smile
at the plant, turned and trotted off as well. Then the plant was all
alone and also very much confused.
The strangeness behind Lindir's
smile was quickly explained to the plant. That very night, Lindir returned
and with him came a new elf. Neither elf so much as even looked at the
plant as they approached. Instead they appeared to be absorbed in a
very complicated chat about music and performances and compositions.
Indeed, the conversation was so far removed from anything to do with
Imladris and geography and botany that the plant fair wondered if Lindir
even remembered it.
But apparently, Lindir did
remember it for when they neared the plant, Lindir abruptly changed
the conversation from a discussion of a certain concert that had taken
place in the realm the previous week and pointed out the plant to his
companion.
"Is it not beautiful?"
Lindir said. "It smells beautiful too. Go, go, and take a deep
whiff of those blossoms." And then, as soon as the new elf was
approaching the plant and not facing Lindir, Lindir smiled and winked
at the plant.
He winked. He truly winked.
The plant at first wondered that it even knew what a wink was and how
to identify it. Then, as it gathered that Lindir was winking at it and
probably winking at it for a reason, it gathered the reason why and,
rather elated, it sent out its little tendrils, seized the new elf by
the arms and legs, and promptly stuffed itself with the elf. It burped
appreciatively.
Lindir's smile broadened. "Oh,
I do love you," he said cheerfully. "Thank you very much.
If I may, I will bring you another one tomorrow night."
The plant nodded its blossom
heads very agreeably. It had decided that it rather liked Lindir and
though it vaguely wondered why Lindir had fed him that particular elf,
it decided that perhaps it should not question why.
"I will fetch you some
compost and then I have to go to bed to do naughty things with Glorfindel,"
Lindir said then. And then he went away and came back shortly afterwards
with a wheelbarrow that was full of lots of rich nutrients. He arranged
the stuff at the base of the plant, wished the plant goodnight, and
then trotted away. The plant waved its blossoms and leaves after him
in fond farewell. It had an odd warm feeling at the base of its planty
stem. Perhaps Lindir was its first friend.
Lindir was a punctual friend.
Every night, at exactly the same time, he would come down to the bed
with a new elf and promptly feed said elf to the plant. Usually the
victim was associated with music – the plant could tell from the conversation.
Sometimes, however, it was not – sometimes it was a scholar or a peasant
or a warrior or even, and this was especially common towards the end
of the plant's time in Imladris, one of a number of strange elves that
spoke poor elvish and hobbled as a result of being bound at hand and
foot.
This continued for almost nine
months. By the end of this time, the plant had grown so large that it
was arguably a tree. It was as tall as the house and its leaves were
glossy and full of health. Each of its petals was as big as a dinner
plate, each of its blossoms was as large as a hula hoop, and its main
stem was as fat as five elves standing close together. It was no longer
dainty, but it was not stout either – it was magnificent and elegant
and its little tendrils lay at the ready in little furled curls that
could lash out and seize a passing mosquito in a matter of moments.
This said, save for the one substantial victim that Lindir brought to
it each night, it reserved itself to plants and insects out of respect
for Lindir's friendship.
Then, one night, Lindir did
not show up with a victim. Indeed, Lindir did not show up at all. The
plant wondered why and wondered if Lindir was unwell or had had an accident.
Its stomach grumbled as it watched a fisherman wander by, but then it
decided, on further thought, that it would wait for Lindir… or at
least, wait one more day.
But then, Lindir did not show
up the following day either. The plant began to feel rather upset, but
still it waited patiently and gnawed on one of its own branches to combat
its hunger pangs. Lindir would show up the following day; of that it
was certain.
But then Lindir did not show
up the next day either. Three days had now passed since Lindir's last
visit.
Then, on the morning of the
fourth day, Lindir finally showed up. But the killer-plant's elation
was short-lived. To its distress, the elf was in tears. Lindir was not
alone. Beside him limped Glorfindel the gardener, who was in crutches
now as a result of a recent scuffle on the border. The plant stretched
its branches towards Lindir and, puckering up the petals of its big
yellow-pink flowers, pressed what it hoped were reassuring kisses to
the minstrel's head.
Lindir sniffed, took one of
its petals, broke it off, and blew his nose in it. "What-what-what
am I going to do?" he sobbed. The plant puzzled over this question
for a few moments before realising that Lindir was not addressing it,
but addressing limp-along Glorfindel.
"Well, it cannot stay
here; it has an appetite that Rivendell's population cannot sustain
and which you never should have encouraged, Lindir," Glorfindel
said. "If you were not so adamant about letting it live, then I
would have it soaked in Rivendell Roundup until every last cell of root
and stem and leaf were destroyed long ago."
"But-but-but I do not
wish for it to die."
"I rather think, Lindir,
that many share those sentiments about those elves that you led here
to their deaths."
"But-but-but I only-I
only picked the ones that you told me were obnox-obnoxious… and the
ones in detention," Lindir wept and blew his nose horribly. Glorfindel
put his arm around the minstrel. The plant anxiously pressed more gentle
kisses to the sides of Lindir's face and to his arms and chest. "Well…
well… save for those music critics."
"Those music critics were
not obnoxious at all, Lindir," Glorfindel said. "You take
criticism far too personally. You are lucky that only I know of the
extent of your involvement in all these disappearances and the fate
of my hound. But it will not be long before someone else notices –
someone far less lenient than I."
Lindir choked. "I-I-I
know."
Glorfindel bent his head, pushed
aside a puckered up blossom, and kissed one of Lindir's cheeks. "Come,
come. We shall have to remove this plant to some place outside of Imladris."
"But how? It is so large.
It is the size of a tree."
"We can… we can lop
it down to a portable size… so long as it is willing for us to help
it." And here, Glorfindel looked at the plant, which nodded its
blossom heads agreeably. It was willing to cooperate – anything for
its friend, Lindir. Glorfindel smiled tightly and reached out to stroke
one of the nearest blossoms, which kissed his hand politely in return.
"But to where can we move
it? And you are injured again. You are always injured when you return
to the realm nowadays."
"It is because I am injured
that I may return to the realm from the borders, my love. Look, this
is what I am thinking – how about we move the plant to that spot on
the border where the goblins like to hide out? Then the plant may feast
on them and have plenty of food. I am sure that I can rustle up some
help to move it. What do you think, hm?" Glorfindel kissed the
top of Lindir's head.
Lindir sniffed. "It sounds
like a good idea. I would sleep better at night if I knew this plant
was on the borders with you."
"If the plant is willing,
we shall move it tomorrow." And here, Glorfindel looked again at
the plant, which nodded its blossoms agreeably and so vigorously this
time that some of its petals fell off. It did not know what a goblin
was, but if Lindir thought it was a good idea and if there was plenty
of food to be found at the proposed destination, then it thought it
was a grand idea.
Glorfindel smiled then at the
plant and for the first time, it was a real smile of appreciation. "Thank
you," he said and he inclined his head. Lindir echoed his words
and kissed one of the blossom heads. Then the pair of them turned and
walked away.
The following day was not a
very comfortable day for the killer-plant, but it was a good day. At
dawn, a large group of elves arrived, some with shovels, some with shears.
The ones with shears began to heavily prune the plant. The ones with
shovels began to dig in a wide deep circle around the plant. Then arrived
a large horse-drawn cart driven by an elf in black with lots of flamboyant
black feathers. The plant soon found out that this elf was the famous
Erestor. Lindir and Glorfindel sat beside this elf.
The plant was dug up, placed
on the cart, and without further ado, the elf in black drove the cart
across the bridge over the river and off past the borders of the valley.
It was after lunch when they
arrived at the site. It looked a relatively comfortable spot and to
the plant's delight, there was lots of evidence of food in the area
what with all the curious spiky spears and severed heads on posts and
the nearby pyre that was stuffed full of still sizzling bodies of elves
and creatures that Lindir told it were goblins. Its new hole had already
been dug and padded with good nutritious soil so it was not long before
the plant was sitting in its new home and sending out roots and new
shoots and exploring its new environment.
Then, with a kiss and a hug,
Lindir farewelled the plant, promised that he would visit, and then
the elves hopped back on the cart and drove away.
~*~
The ravens did not bother to
enter Imladris at all the following year for they had heard that Counsellor
Erestor, wearer of black and black feathers and flapper of arms and
possessor of a raven-like voice, had decided not to pose for his annual
portrait within the realm, but outside the realm and on the borders.
This was good news for the ravens as the windowsills and rooftop of
Rivendell were very uncomfortable for perching feet and on the borders,
there were only much more comfortable branches.
They flew direct to the border
in one big black cloud and with a soft flutter of wings, a few bickering
caws, and a clattering of claws, swooped down to land on the branches
of the yellow-pink blossomed trees. Some of the more observant ravens
noticed that they did not recognise the trees, but none save one paid
this observation any further attention.
The one raven that did pay
the trees more attention than the rest was one that was sure it recognised
something about them. Perhaps it was the feel of the branch beneath
its claws. Perhaps it was the taste of the sap when it sought to wipe
its beak. Coincidentally, this particular raven happened to be the exact
same one that had, exactly one year ago, been suffering from a nasty
stomachache.
Not this year, though. This
year, the raven was perfectly healthy… until it felt the petals of
one of the blossom heads of the tree in which it was perched nuzzle
up to its foot. It looked away from observing the magnificent skill
of Erestor's favourite painter and Erestor the exotic hula dancer and
blinked when it observed that save for a multitude of black feathers
floating in the air, it could not see any of its black feathered fellows.
'How odd,' was its first thought. 'Shit!' was its next when the pretty blossom nuzzling its foot suddenly raised its head and stretched open wide.
The End