Categories > Books > Lord of the Rings > Let The Games Begin

Let The Games Begin

by digdigil 4 reviews

This is a little vignette and is a parody of the beginning of the very first Games, set in Taniquetil.

Category: Lord of the Rings - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor, Parody - Characters: Other - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2006-02-15 - Updated: 2006-02-15 - 725 words - Complete


"Let the Games begin!" Thus spake Varda, as the First Olympic Games of Mt. Taniquetil (later to be called the First Taniquetic Games) had started, and the 100 metre sprint had just gotten underway with the sound of the first pistol shot still resonating in the air. The seven sons of Feanor, plus Feanor himself, and also cousins Fingon, Turgon and 'The Rod', otherwise known as Finrod Felagund, were all competing in it.

"Oh, no! They've all been called back! False start by Feanor!" spake Varda again. "Tsk. He's always got to be the first", she said as an aside to Manwe, who sat looking as if he'd rather be somewhere else, "and it looks like he's jumped the gun".

Feanor glanced upwards, giving Varda a smolderingly dirty look, and adjusted his shiny, skin tight, very, very small track shorts. Finrod did also, squirming a bit as he picked out a wedgie from between his firm and shapely buttocks, while giving Feanor the evil eye for the false start.

CRACK! Went the pistol. "They're off again!" shouted Varda. "Oh, whoops, no! They've got called back again by the referee! Another false start, this time by Maedhros!"

Maedhros adjusted his ample package, moving it from the left to the right side of his teeny weeny track shorts. His face was beet red.

"It's because he's so - erm - tall - that he stuck out in front of the others that time!" announced Varda to no one in particular, although she herself seemed very much impressed by his height.

"Try again, shall we? Runners, on your marks!"

Another pistol crack sounded. "Oh, Iluvatar, WTF?" Varda cried, as the runners were recalled once more. She glanced down and saw that it was the slender Maglor, the only one of Feanor's sons who fit his shorts perfectly, and her eyes rested appreciatively upon his long, shapely legs, who had made the false start this time.

"Halls of Mandos!" she swore softly to herself, holding her head in her hands. "There are going to be at least eight false starts today, aren't there?" She glanced down again and saw Feanor climbing up the mountainside towards her. "Oh, Hell, no!" she said with much fright as he climbed up with the quickness and surefootedness of a mountain goat.

When he reached the summit he approached Varda with a murderous look of thunder upon his fiendishly handsome face. She recoiled in horror as she thought he was going to kill her, but he merely snatched the starter's pistol out of her slender white hand. He gave her cheek a little pinch as he did so and grinned at her saucily. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he was making a pass at her. She considered pinching his cheek in return, but it wasn't one of the ones on his face she considered. She cast a sideways glance at Manwe, and he was staring back at her with quite an intense expression on his regal, godly face. She thought better of doing any pinching. She would try to get ahold of Feanor later in the announcer's box.

"What are you going to do with that?" she called to Feanor as he climbed back down the mountain with the pistol clenched between his teeth.

Feanor strode back to the starting blocks where his sons and relatives stood shifting their weight about, looking uncomfortable as they adjusted various parts of their anatomy, considering that the track shorts were skin tight, very short and gaped in just the right places. Feanor pointed the pistol at the Vanyarin Elf who was acting as referee and, holding it to the unfortunate Vanya's head, marched him off the field of play.

"Now that's that", announced Feanor, dusting off his hands, the pistol stuck into his waistband, as he returned a few moments later to the starting blocks. Then, he extricated the pistol from his shorts, and with a thrust of his arm worthy of the mightiest javelin thrower, he threw the pistol straight back to Varda in an impressive thrust of his long arm.

"Come on, Varda, my dear!" he yelled up to her. "Sorry! I mean, O Holy One!" Manwe shot him a suspicious look, and then shot one at Varda. "Start the Games again with some of your afflatus!"

And thus the Games began.
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