Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 8 |
| The Professor |
For JRRT's one hundred and thirteenth (eleventy-third) birthday, the Tolkien Society proposed that his fans worldwide drink a toast to "The Professor". Una pointed this out on the H-A mailing list and the nuzgul bit me. (I seem doomed only to write JRRT birthday tributes which involve the Fellowship and booze...) |
| "Now then." Elessar surveyed the company gravely. "Are all supplied?" Gandalf inhaled whisky-fumes appreciatively; Frodo lifted his sherry-glass. "Sam?" "All right, thank-you, Strider, half-pint of Shire's best left." "Merry, Pippin - ah," as they waved overflowing cider-tankards, "helped yourselves; Legolas, wine - " "Father's cellars' finest," the Elf maintained, light glinting on Dorwinion ruby. "Gimli - enough fire-water, what-do-you-call-it-" "Vodka," the Dwarf rumbled. "Arwen suggested champagne," Aragorn added, "but for old times', I think, Ranger's Friend -" Producing a battered hip-flask, he poured. "Boromir, join me?" Boromir sniffed. "What-?" "Elrond's best brandy." The King winked. "So, a toast. The Professor!" |