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Polar Bear!Beorn Among the Penguins (slightly morbid humor)
Crackfic 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.
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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.
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Oh dear, this reminds me of Thundera Tiger when she gets in the mood to write humor - the arguments, the definitions, and I love the mittens threaded through the coat so they can't get lost. Perfect touch, that. Not that it helped in the end.
never did they accept his peace offering, having no love of knitted things - chortle! So not because he totally destroyed several penguins in a wanton attack, but because they don't like mittens, eh?
I love it! I love also Saruman the Pedantic and his note on species distribution.
Thank you, Huin!
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The mittens were originally just going to get that single mention at the beginning, but they kept asserting themselves. X)
Re: Saruman the Pedantic. Conversation in my head:
Huin: "It's no big deal; I mean, Beorn isn't exactly a naturally occurring polar bear anyway."
Saruman: "It's the principle of the thing. Also, the correct term for an egg-laying animal is oviparous. Don't pretend you don't know."
Huin: "Fine, you can have the species distribution thing."
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;-)
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Do you suppose that we here in Middle-earth lack distinct commonplace terms and specialist terms for given phenomena? Seeing as ‘egg-laying’ is evidently an acceptable translation of the vernacular, I fail to see how ‘oviparous’ is unacceptable to translate an educated person’s speech.
Pedantically,
Saruman
(Saruman, be polite or I’ll write another cute companion animal for you…)
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- Erulisse (one L)
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The WIPs and the edits - I think we're all in that mess. My edits are getting quite strident because they want to be posted and public again, but the red ink is overriding the original black....I only like colors like this in my sunrise and sunsets.
- Erulisse (one L)
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Ha! I hate to think of the red ghastly mess that would ensure if I tried to red-ink on hardcopy. Complete with snarky cartoons in the margins no doubt..
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- Erulisse (one L)
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And the mittens!
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Some people have Aragorn or Frodo or someone living in their heads. I've got Saruman. Someone's gotta do it.
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This is fun, mind if I add you?
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I usually prefer the nastier fellows, to a point. Or at least the ones with a greater gap between what society expects of them, and what they expect of themselves. Not outright evil, but those caught in between.
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Or at least the ones with a greater gap between what society expects of them, and what they expect of themselves. Not outright evil, but those caught in between.
That's a good way of putting it. Probably about where I stand.