Would you ever go skinny dipping in the Bruinen, or are you more of a “sit on a rock dramatically and recite poetry” type?
Ah. Ahem.
I’ve stared at this question for longer than I care to admit, and I must ask—what in Elbereth’s name is “skinny dipping”?
Is this some sort of newfangled fishing technique? A culinary practice involving very thin slices of bread in sauce? A minimalist swimming method? Is one required to be particularly lean in order to participate? Because I regret to inform you that I snack. Frequently.
Is it perhaps the act of a very slender person—let’s say, hypothetically, Eredin—gracefully lowering themselves into the river while looking windswept and tragic, like the ghost of a martyred sea prince? Because if so, he’s already done that. Several times. Unprompted.
If, on the other hand, you’re implying that I would just leap into the Bruinen in the nude, then I must inform you—NO, I WOULD NOT.
Absolutely not! I am a dignified elf. A bard! A keeper of robes and mysteries!
I would perch on a rock, yes—perhaps with one knee draped poetically, journal in hand, the wind teasing my hair—but I would do so clothed, thank you very much.
This is Rivendell, not a tavern in Dol Amroth.
…That said, Eredin once tried to dare me into bathing in the river clothed, under the full moon “for inspiration.” I almost did it, too. Then I saw a frog and fell backwards off the rock.
Never again.