Filling Santa's shELVES

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely connected to Tolkien's universe, and will not profit from this writing in any way. Seriously - I won't get a single, solitary nickel. Not even a coupon for fifty cents off a diet Coke. It’s pathetic.


A/N: The plot bunny for this ficlet came from my son, Jason Sensation (God help his girlfriend - he has his mother's twisted sense of humor). So, big, fat kudos to my Firstborn for giving mom ideas…


Filling Santa's ShELVES - A Twisted Christmas Story

Prologue

"Shit, it's freaking cold! Whose idea was it to set up shop out here in the ninth circle of Hell?"

"Yours, Boss. You said we needed to be isolated."

"I was being sarcastic, you idiot. When is the shipment due in?"

"Should be here well before Thanksgiving."

"That still doesn't leave us much time. They had better be ready to move."

"The front man said they'd be fully grown, strong, and durable."

"For what they're costing us, they'd better be."

Chapter 1


The ship rocked violently on the waves, slamming those in its bowels against each other, knocking heads together. Strong arms once again pulled at their manacles, but to no avail. Even legendary Elven strength was no match for tempered steel.

"How did you ever allow this to happen, Haldir?" Legolas asked, giving yet another hard tug on the chain that tethered him to the keel of the ship.

"Me? ME? I wasn't the one who brought the pipeweed to the festival! That was your idea, Princeling," Haldir huffed, giving another mighty yank on his leg irons.

"You're the March Warden. The Guardian of the Woods…some guardian you are! Besides, no one forced you to light up!"

"Will you two shut up? You're giving me a headache!" Orophin spat, leaning his head back against the wall.

"If you have a headache then it's from the barrel of wine you drank…not to mention all of the Old Toby you smoked," Haldir growled at his brother, having absolutely no sympathy for the younger Elf.

"Never mind how we got here…how are we going to get out? I don't know where they're taking us, but I can pretty much guarantee that this isn't an Elven White Ship, and we’re not going to Valinor," Rumil put in, gesturing around him as best he could with the heavy steel shackles hanging from his wrists.

"We'll just have to wait and see where they're taking us. We can escape when we land," Haldir replied with his usual self-assurance, sitting back and trying to make himself as comfortable as possible.

"Of course, Haldir! Why didn't I think of that? It just stands to reason that when we land they'll be stupid enough to take off these incredibly strong chains, and we can simply walk away!" Legolas said sarcastically, giving Haldir a sour look. "In case you've forgotten, we have no weapons, no provisions, no idea of where we'll be, and we're tethered hand and foot by metal shackles."

"Pessimist. The glass is always half empty, isn't it, Greenleaf?"

"Do me a favor, Galadhrim…do not deign to speak to me for the rest of the journey," Legolas spat, turning his head from the March Warden, staring at the far side of the ship.

"Oh, such a punishment!" Haldir snorted, turning his head to stare in the opposite direction.

"For Elves who are each several thousand years old, you're acting like Elflings! Grow up, for Eru's sake, will you? We're in serious trouble here," Rumil yelled, losing his temper with the other two. "Orophin…OROPHIN!"

"What?"

"Don't pretend to be asleep…I can tell when you're faking. Tell these two to stop their quibbling and help figure out what we're going to do!"

"I'm am NOT getting in the middle of their argument. They can beat each other senseless with their chains, for all I care. I have a headache."

And so the Elves passed the journey, which took several more days. Every so often a hatch above their heads would open, and someone would throw down a little food and bottled water (it had taken the Elves a while to figure out how to open the caps, but they were impressed with the lightweight bottles despite themselves). They didn't see their captors until the final day of the voyage.

That last day, the hatch opened and a man had climbed down into the belly of the ship. Alert at once, the Elves had watched him warily, as he attached chains to their leg shackles that so that each of the Elves was tethered to the others. He had been very careful not to get close enough to any of the Elves for them to reach him, remembering too well, how, even though drunk, or stoned, or whatever they were the night they were captured, just how far they could throw a man.

"Stand up," he ordered, holding a small, oddly shaped piece of metal in their direction.

The Elves ignored his order, instead yelling curses at him in Elvish.

"I know you can understand me, and I said to STAND UP!" the man bellowed. "If you don't do as I say, I'll be forced to shoot you, and that would be a pity, considering how much you're worth."

"Shoot us with what?" Orophin growled, "you have no bow…just that ugly little piece of metal. Do you intend to beat us with it? Please, come closer and try…I beg you."

"No weapon?" the man sneered, looking at the gun as if he'd never seen it before, "Ugly little piece of metal?" He took aim, just to Orophin's right, at one of the wooden crates that were stacked in the hull of the ship near where the Elf was chained.

The Elves jumped at the loud noise the small piece of metal gave off, their ultra-sensitive ears ringing with the sound. Orophin grimaced at the splinters of wood that flew at him as the bullet ripped into the crate.

"This will tear a bigger hole in you than in that crate," the man explained, blowing the smoke away from the barrel of the gun. The Elves looked wide eyed at the jagged hole the bullet had ripped into the wooden box. "Now stand up!"

Reluctantly, the Elves dragged themselves to their feet, feeling the heaviness in their hearts more than the weight of the chains.

A hatch on the side of the ship was lowered, allowing in brilliant daylight, the first the Elves had seen since being chained below deck. Squinting in the bright light, they could make out the forms of several more men standing on a gangplank.

Herded out of the ship, their eyes adjusting to the brightness of day, it was the bitter cold that first caught their attention.

"The High Pass is not this cold…where in Arda are we?" Haldir whispered to Legolas, as they walked down the gangplank onto shore. Looking around, he could see ice floes bobbing in the water, and snow, snow, snow as far as the eye could see.

Legolas looked at Haldir, the same thought crossed each of their minds at the same time. How could they possibly escape? Although Elves did not feel the cold as mortals did, they could still freeze. That death would not be pleasant at all…frozen solid, yet aware, fading slowly…they each shivered, but not with the cold. Still, such a death might be preferable to what might await them.

Several more men were waiting in what were, perhaps, the most unusual contraptions the Elves had ever seen. The contraptions looked vaguely like wagons, having wheels, but there were no horses or oxen in sight. Rather they made a loud, rumbling noise, and stank to high heaven.

But, then again, so did the Elves. After all, they had been chained within the belly of the ship for days without the benefit of soap and water. Their beautiful hair hung limp and greasy about their shoulders; their tunics were wrinkled and quite pungent with both body odor and other natural eliminations.


A gangplank of sorts was lowered from the rear of one of the contraptions, and the Elves were ushered up it, into the truck's cargo hold. They were told by the same man with the gun to sit down, shut up, and hold on as best that they could.

The man slid the gangplank back up onto the bed of the truck. "Welcome to the North Pole, boys," he laughed, slamming the doors shut. The truck lurched forward, sending the Elves sliding across the bed of the truck.

"So much for escaping when we landed, Haldir," Legolas couldn't resist saying, as they bounced within the cargo hold, their chains rattling along with their bones at the rough ride.

Haldir remained silent, as the four Elves contemplated their fate.