Arthur Boccaccio, Fiondil, was a very funny man, both in Real Life and in his writing. Here are just a few examples of the humour in his shorter pieces:
Lúthien's Gift
This conversation from the first chapter:
“Celebrían. What brings you here on this fine day?” Melian stood to embrace the elleth, daughter of her husband’s kinsman, Celeborn.
Celebrían laughed and stepped into Melian’s arms. “Why, I came to see my favorite daernaneth, of course,” she said, then stepped back, the light of mischief in her eyes. “And I brought a friend.” Celebrían moved to one side so Melian could see who was entering behind her.
“Hello, my dear. You’re looking well.”
“Olórin!” Melian smiled with delighted surprise as the two Maiar embraced. “It’s been too long. What brings you to Tol Eressëa?”
Olórin smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Well, I had nothing better to do today and —“
Melian laughed, playfully hitting him on the arm. “The day you have nothing better to do is the day we all should start worrying. But come, sit, both of you, and tell me the news.”
Melian motioned the other two towards a bench along one side of the workshop where she and Olórin took a seat but Celebrían smiled and shook her head. “Actually, I am on my way to visit with friends. I merely met Mithrandir on the way, so I will leave you two to gossip without me.”
Olórin feigned shock at the elleth’s words. “Gossip! I’ll have you know, my dear, that I have never indulged in gossip.” He turned to Melian, who was fighting not to laugh. “These elflings show no respect for their elders, do they, my dear?”
Now it was Celebrían’s turn to feign indignation. “Elfling! Why I haven’t been an elfling in...in millenia!”
Now Melian was laughing. “Oh my darling, no matter how old you are, you will always be elflings to us.”
“Hmph. Well, this elfling has better things to do than stand here being insulted. When you’re finished gossiping,” Celebrían stuck her tongue out as Melian and Olórin laughed even harder, “you’ll want to join us for the evening meal, won’t you, Mithrandir?”
Tales of Mandos
From Lord Namo's Yule Gift:
"Did not Elessar tell you that you bow to no one? I suggest you take him at his word."
"B-but you’re...I mean.. you’re... one of Them!
" Merry stuttered, rolling his eyes towards a direction that had he known pointed south rather than east where stood Taniquetil and the Thrones of the Valar. Námo hid a smile.
"Indeed," was all the Lord of Mandos said and he allowed the silence to stretch just a bit more than was comfortable. Merry and Pippin gave each other strained looks and shuffled their hairy feet like errant tweenagers.
"Now, tell me what you said, Peregrin Took." Námo allowed his voice to go cold and several of the souls standing about blanched and took a step or two back.
Pippin blushed and stammered. "Er... well... it wasn’t anything... er... are we going to be punished?"
Námo raised an amused eyebrow. How typical of the young rapscallion to assume his cousin would share in any punishment meted out to him. Merry rolled his eyes but otherwise did not say anything. "Do you think you should be?" Námo finally asked.
—-
"It wouldn’t kill you to have a little greenery you know," Pippin said somewhat forcefully, and then gulped when Námo turned his attention back to him.
Before Námo could reply, however, something dropped out of the air. Námo looked down to see ropes of balsam draped about his shoulders. Then something else fell on his head. Rolling his eyes towards his brow the Lord of Mandos saw a balsam wreath. There were four white candles, all lit, nestled in the wreath with gold and silver ribbons streaming all about.
YAVANNA! YOU ARE SO DEAD!
Laughter echoed through his mind. Neither the balsam ropes nor the wreath disappeared, though. The hobbits gave him a critical look.
"Yes, something like that," Pippin said with a nod, "but you’re supposed to hang the ropes up, not drape them around you... er.... my lord."
—-
"Merry," Pippin exclaimed as he and Merry trailed after the Lord of Mandos. "I’m hungry."
Both Merry and Námo stopped short in disbelief. Pippin nearly collided with the Vala. Námo started to respond to the hobbit’s outrageous statement but Merry beat him to it.
"We’re dead, Pip. The dead can’t feel hunger."
"We’re also hobbits, Merry," Pippin retorted smugly. "Hobbits are always hungry. What does being dead have to do with anything?"
Merry threw up his hands and rolled his eyes, then glared at Námo. "If you don’t kill him, I will."
"But Merry, you just said that I’m already dead," the once Thain of the Shire piped up, doing his best to look like a confused tweenager. Pippin then turned to the Lord of Mandos, concern written all over his face. "He can’t kill me if I’m already dead...can he?"
Námo hid a smile. He had not paid much attention to the hobbits who had passed through Mandos, but if these two were any indication of this race’s character, he vowed to pay closer attention from now on. Mischievous or not, silly or not, they were indeed delightful Children.
"I might let him try... just for amusement’s sake," Námo said with a straight face and was rewarded with an audible gulp from Pippin.—-
From Safe In My Arms:
"I see they finally taught you how to dress properly, Little Brother," Boromir said teasingly.
Faramir laughed delightedly, "This from the man who would wear the same set of clothes for days on end."
"But only when on campaign, otherwise I knew how to dress appropriately. You on the other hand..."
Faramir raised a hand to forestall Boromir’s comments on his sartorial habits. "I think Lord Námo is waiting for us."
Yes, I am, came the thought in their minds, sounding more amused than upset. Both brothers started at the words and blushed in embarrassment; the Maiar standing about grinned.
—-
Námo nodded in satisfaction. "Come, I will lead you back to Éomer and the periannath." He gave them all a sly smile. "Éomer will be very glad to see you."
Boromir and Faramir started laughing at that and when Denethor gave them a bemused look, Boromir laughed even harder.
"Don’t worry, Father," Faramir said as he struggled to get himself under control. "We’ll explain along the way."
By the time they reached the chamber where Boromir had first found himself after death Denethor was laughing just as hard as the rest of them.
