![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
huinareCrackfic ahoy. Um, the taskforce made me do it. Yeah.
Dwimordene can be thanked for the title, but the ensuing mess is my responsibility.
Disclaimer: These characters are not my intellectual property, and even if they were nobody would pay me for this thing.
Warnings: Observe the title.
On a time, Beorn and Radagast the Brown were traveling in far, cold lands; and Beorn had assumed the shape of a great white bear such as can endure those climes; and Radagast had bundled up cozily, with those mittens with the string that goes through your coat so you can’t lose them.
Now as the two companions, debating why they had thought it good to sojourn in such an ungentle country and whose idea it had been, came nigh the coast, they perceived many small figures moving at the sea’s edge. Then, two things occurred at once:
“Oh huzzah, it’s my little friends!” cried Radagast merrily.
“I shall crush you all!” roared Beorn, charging into the midst of the creatures.
“Oh the humanity! Beorn, stop that at once,” Radagast admonished, gesticulating frantically. One knitted mitten fell off his hand and danced erratically on its convenient little string.
Beorn heeded him not. Overtaken by the fell joy of battle, he plowed through his foes, each sweep of his massive forepaws with their long claws laying several low at once, snapping and rending with his dire jaws. Behold!-–small, dark forms flew every which way, like plump bowling pins struck by a particularly toothsome bowling ball. Those left alive sought the water.
“For Eru’s sake, cease this mindless rampage,” bellowed Radagast.
Beorn paused reluctantly. “I thought you’d be glad I’m ridding the world of these Orcs.”
“Those aren’t Orcs, they’re birds!”
“You’ve gone addled. They’re Orcs, I’m telling you–-They’re short and swarthy, and they move without grace.”
“‘Swarthy?’ They’re piebald.”
“Well, it’s hard to notice that against all this ice. And did you see any of them flying away? Birds fly, that’s what makes them birds,” insisted Beorn.
Radagast tugged at his mitten in vexation, and lo, its string gave way and snapped under the strain of his mood. Brandishing the displaced cold weather accessory in his bare hand, he retorted, “Birds are warm-blooded and lay eggs, that’s what makes them birds, you ass.”
“Oh.” Beorn paused to consider this, a stunned look slowly settling over his imposing countenance. His darkling eyes, like obsidian pools in his pallid fuzzy face, stirred uneasily. Suddenly he bounded over to Radagast, snatched the mitten from his hand, and hastened back to the water. “Hello there, birds? I’m sorry about the carnage and destruction which I have recently visited upon you. Please accept this gift of a knitted mitten which you can unravel and use in building your nests.”
Tossing the hapless mitten into the brooding, icy waters, Beorn turned back to his companion, his conscience much assuaged by this deed. Yet the penguins were ever suspicious of him thereafter; and never did they accept his peace offering, having no love of knitted things.
______________
Saruman the Pedantic, geographical consultant in the rendering of this history, advises that under natural circumstances polar bears and penguins would never meet, as the one lives near the north pole and the other near the south pole.
Dwimordene can be thanked for the title, but the ensuing mess is my responsibility.
Disclaimer: These characters are not my intellectual property, and even if they were nobody would pay me for this thing.
Warnings: Observe the title.
On a time, Beorn and Radagast the Brown were traveling in far, cold lands; and Beorn had assumed the shape of a great white bear such as can endure those climes; and Radagast had bundled up cozily, with those mittens with the string that goes through your coat so you can’t lose them.
Now as the two companions, debating why they had thought it good to sojourn in such an ungentle country and whose idea it had been, came nigh the coast, they perceived many small figures moving at the sea’s edge. Then, two things occurred at once:
“Oh huzzah, it’s my little friends!” cried Radagast merrily.
“I shall crush you all!” roared Beorn, charging into the midst of the creatures.
“Oh the humanity! Beorn, stop that at once,” Radagast admonished, gesticulating frantically. One knitted mitten fell off his hand and danced erratically on its convenient little string.
Beorn heeded him not. Overtaken by the fell joy of battle, he plowed through his foes, each sweep of his massive forepaws with their long claws laying several low at once, snapping and rending with his dire jaws. Behold!-–small, dark forms flew every which way, like plump bowling pins struck by a particularly toothsome bowling ball. Those left alive sought the water.
“For Eru’s sake, cease this mindless rampage,” bellowed Radagast.
Beorn paused reluctantly. “I thought you’d be glad I’m ridding the world of these Orcs.”
“Those aren’t Orcs, they’re birds!”
“You’ve gone addled. They’re Orcs, I’m telling you–-They’re short and swarthy, and they move without grace.”
“‘Swarthy?’ They’re piebald.”
“Well, it’s hard to notice that against all this ice. And did you see any of them flying away? Birds fly, that’s what makes them birds,” insisted Beorn.
Radagast tugged at his mitten in vexation, and lo, its string gave way and snapped under the strain of his mood. Brandishing the displaced cold weather accessory in his bare hand, he retorted, “Birds are warm-blooded and lay eggs, that’s what makes them birds, you ass.”
“Oh.” Beorn paused to consider this, a stunned look slowly settling over his imposing countenance. His darkling eyes, like obsidian pools in his pallid fuzzy face, stirred uneasily. Suddenly he bounded over to Radagast, snatched the mitten from his hand, and hastened back to the water. “Hello there, birds? I’m sorry about the carnage and destruction which I have recently visited upon you. Please accept this gift of a knitted mitten which you can unravel and use in building your nests.”
Tossing the hapless mitten into the brooding, icy waters, Beorn turned back to his companion, his conscience much assuaged by this deed. Yet the penguins were ever suspicious of him thereafter; and never did they accept his peace offering, having no love of knitted things.
______________
Saruman the Pedantic, geographical consultant in the rendering of this history, advises that under natural circumstances polar bears and penguins would never meet, as the one lives near the north pole and the other near the south pole.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}