Disclaimer: I do not own LotR. Just my OCs.
Notes: This is not a parody, but it as isn't a deconstruction fic. My advice would be to not take it to seriously.
Since when do I keep a diary?
Oh, and also, WHERE THE HELL AM I?! why am I in a forest? In my pajamas? With nothing but a leatherbound book and a pen? WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!
Still no idea what's going on. Getting hungry, walked all day and no sign of a city or town. Or road, or outhouse. Had to go in the nature and I still feel uncomfortable. Also constipated. I refuse to poop.
I pooped. Don't worry though, I used some of your pages as toilet paper.
Day three, later
Now my ass hurts. I may have a paper cut.
Still no cities, towns, roads, or outhouses. Where am I an who's responsible?
Found a stream and a bush with berries that tasted like mud. No longer starving/thirsting to near death.
But I am looking more keenly for an outhouse.
I have found a road! Hallelujah!
That or the mud berries are causing me to hallucinate this dirt path. I doubt this option- my imagination could do much better.
Day Five, later
Road ended. Crap.
Found another stream, tried to bathe. Failed miserably and am now wearing soggy pajamas and my mud-berries are gone. Good riddance. They tasted like mud anyways.
Been gone a week, starting to seriously panic. What if I'm dead and this is the afterlife? What if I'm in a coma?
Thoughts to depressing. Going to sleep.
My ass must look like it was attacked by a fleet of paper plains.
Managed a proper bath as the stream I found is deeper. Apparently stream water causes massive pain when in cuts on ass.
Found more berries. Unfortunately they are of the mud variety. Tried eating what may have been an acorn.
Day Seven, Later.
Thoughts still depressing.
But I may be being followed. Sometimes I feel someone behind me and smell horse shit, but perhaps I am finally going crazy.
DOES THIS FOREST NEVER END?!
Forest ended. Empty vast field began. Going to have trouble finding discreet place to 'go'
Day Eight, later
I was being followed. There is a man a mile back on a great big horse.
Hurrah! No longer alone!
Day eight, even later.
Not Hurrah. Not Hurrah at all. More later.
Day Eight again
Man is odd- handsome, but old-ish. Has dark hair and a scraggly beard. He speaks not a word of English or anything else I know. Which is British English. Perhaps he's french? He's ignoring me now.
He's dressed rather oddly and carries around a sword and knives and a bow and arrow.
Have a stumbled into an alternate dimension? That would be a drag, but less so than if this man was a delusional serial killed.
This man doesn't seem to like me- he's sitting across the fire and glares my way on occasion. I think he's slightly disturbed. He said something that sounded like 'stay put' and ran off to do something.
Spent a moment contemplating possibilities of what's happening and sneaking off to the restroom.
He's back now- he saw me about to eat a mud-berry and looked at me like I had mad cow disease. He then butchered up a fluffy little rabbit.
Oh- he's talking in that odd language again!
Day Eight, but it may just be midnight or early into day nine. Not sure.
Ate some rabbit. It was good, Have developed a taste for burnt rabbit. Better than mud-berries.
Perhaps he doesn't hate me?
Day nine, for sure as I just woke up
Woke up with the kind, if psychopathic and insane, man's cloak draped over me. Thanked him but not sure how much got through.
Neck stiff from sleeping on ground. Shivering- have never been this cold.
Should have fallen asleep in a parka.
Ate leftover burn rabbit for breakfast- the man even heated it up. It has a nice quality to the meet- chewy yet tender.
I decided I should introduce myself, so I pointed to me and said "Candice" very clearly, and then pointed to him with a questioning.
"Candes?" he asked, as if translating my name into his language. I sighed and shrugged and sort of nodded. Oh, well, close enough. Then he muttered something that sounded as if it translated as "Candes indeed" while looking at me like I was in a corset and undies and not perfectly modest, if filthy, pajamas. But he did point to himself and say "Gorvon".
What a peculiar name.
He seems to be trying to get me onto his horse...I think he's getting exasperated that I won't stop writing to figure out how, because-
Day Nine, later
spent a day on a horse he yanked me onto. How rude.
But we are eating rabbit again tonight- not burned, what a shame, but still good.
I had a lot of time today to panic and wonder where I was and what was going on. Had a nice conniption fit. Gorvon seemed ready to use one of his multiple weapons on me. It has crossed my mind that he may not be entirely trustworthy.
I think I may be coming down with a cold.
Day Nine, at night
Not a cold. Just a stomach bug. Threw up days worth of my intestines.
Gorvon was smug about the whole thing, pointing to a mud-berry and then to my puke, and then he waggled his finger at me. Well fine then, misted condescension. I didn't like them anyways.
Needed a bathroom break, which was quite awkward, more so than last night when I went as he was hunting bunnies. I am back to not pooping- he actually buried my vomit, I hate to see what he'd do with excrement.
But he is nice. He gave me some non-mud berries and his spare cloak to sleep under.
Chivalry isn't dead, it just comes in the form of scarey men with swords who know how to burn a good rabbit and may or may not have bad intentions.
arrived outside a small town. Before entering, Gorvon draped his cloak around me and said, very seriously, "Candes, something something something, something something."
I think he was telling me not to remove the cloak as he made sure it was fastened and every time it opened a little, he pulled it shut and gave me a sharp look.
Day Ten, noon
I now know the mystery of the cloak. Everyone here is dressed as the Amish.
Also, several seem to have deformities.
Wait- was that just-
Hope you liked it, pleas review- I appreciate feedback immensely.
Also, the Candes thing is a play on her name, which, in Sindarin, roughly translates as 'Bold Woman', I believe; rather fitting as she was dressed, by ME standards, as a hooker.