Stu, Legless and Glimmergroin rode to the gates of Minas Tear Ass and stopped at the armed guard’s insistence. Behind them, stretched along the plain, was the host of Rohan, still camped and awaiting their king, Eyore-More, who remained to see his friend crowned. The loss of Theodred had been a heartbreaking experience, but the men of Rohan were a hardy bunch and they adapted quickly. Many of them recognized the three travelers and hailed them as they rode speedily through the ranks.
“Halt! State your name and business,” the guard intoned solemnly. He spoke to the dark haired man leading the group. The fellow had dark eyes lined with dark lashes, a deeply tanned face and long, shaggy hair tied back from his face. He wore no beard, but his face bore numerous scrapes and cuts around his jaw and lips.
“I’m Stewart Martin of Mi-um-Wra-Ringgold. This here’s Prince Legless of Mirkwood and Glimmergroin, Son of Glow-In. We’er here for King Argyle’s coronation.”
The guards mouth slowly dropped open at Stu’s speech and he stared from othe shaggy, beardless man to the pale blond elf, and lastly, to the dwarf. “I beg your pardon?”
At that moment, a strawberry blond man on a large black horse rode up to the gate. He paused as he saw who waited to gain admittance to the city. His first reaction was to flee. Then he thought about it and realized that having Stu around could be a lot of fun, especially since his father, Denethor, had holed himself up in the White Tower and refused to come down, even with the new king’s return.
“Steward, Legless, Glimmergroin!”
The guard gaped as the one called Steward leaned over in his saddle and clapped a hero of the war on the shoulder and called enthusiastically. “Fairy-Man!”
“Faramir,” the guard snapped.
“That’s what he said,” answered a chorus of voices rising from the plane and sections of the city walls. The startled guard jumped and a flock of birds were frightened into screeching, wheeling flight.
“Dude, it’s good to see you, again. Oh, man, is this your city? It sure is pretty. Where’s Argyle, anyway?”
“He and Hal-drear are in the White Tower with my father, Denethor. I am afraid that ever since word came to him of Booorrrimir’s death, he has not been the same.” Turning to the guard, Fairy-Man said, “This is Steward of Wrangled Gorge, Consort to the Prince of Mirkwood. Steward was a Ring Bearer.”
The guard’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he stared at Stu.
Stu’s face took on a wistful expression. “Oh, man, do I miss ol’ Boomer.”
The hapless guard at the gate felt weak and was forced to sit down. “Lord Boromir,” he whispered to himself. “His name was Lord Boromir.”
“Never mind,” Fairy-Man responded gently to the guard as he climbed off his horse. “You’ll get used to the way Steward speaks; everyone does. Come on, Steward, I’ll lead you to King Argyle.”
“Aragorn,” muttered the shell-shocked guard. “His name is Aragorn.”
Inside Minus Tear Ass, repairs were underway at
a frightening pace. The war had been particularly unkind to the city and its
inhabitants, but they had endured many centuries of fighting and had learned
to cope. Now that their kind had returned, the people felt a new vigor. Everywhere
people stopped to stare at Steward, the elf and the dwarf. Word quickly began
to spread as to Stewart’s identity and whispers grew throughout the city.
Soon everyone knew th tone of the Ring Bearers had come to see their new king
crowned and that he’d brought his Consort, the Prince of Mirkwood. One
rumor suggested that the dwarf was a result of the strange union of elf and
man, but Blimmergroin overheard it and from a stonemason, and with his axe firmly
planted in the unsuspecting man’s foot, explained on no uncertain terms
the long lineage of his Dwarven ancestors.
The quartet reached the base of the White Tower and there encountered Argyle
and Hal-drear. The future kind was pounding both fists on the stout wooden door
in a futile attempt to get in. “Denethor, you fucking idiot, open the
door!”
“My love, your behavior is most unkingly,” whispered Hal-drear with some distress as he stroked his now enormous belly.
“He started it,” growled Argyle.
“Did not!” Denethor’s graying head poked from a high window and he glared down at the king. “You got my son killed and now you want my throne.”
Fairy-Man covered his face with one gloved hand. “Father is not himself.”
“It’s not your throne. It’s my throne.” Argyle threw up his hands and turned to face Stu. “Welcome to my kingdom, Steward. Legless, how is Mirkwood? Glimmergroin, good to see you—someone take his axe.”
“What’s up with Denture?” Stu gazed up at the window and noticed the old man held a smooth all in his hands.
“He has control of a Palantir and it has warped his mind,” Hal-drear followed the line of Stu’s gaze as he carefully moved away from Glimmergroin.
Stu rolled the unfamiliar word around in his head for a moment. “big ass marble,” he responded at last. “What’s it do?”
“it’s an ancient seeing stone, but it is the last one. All the others are lost or destroyed.” Argyle shook his head sadly. “Dentu-Dena-Boomer’s father owns the Palantir that was connected to Saw Ron’s Palantir. He only saw what Saw Ron wanted him to see.”
Stu frowned, trying to grasp the meaning of Argyle’s words. “How are two planters connected?”
“Plants? No, not plants. These stones are a way to communicate over distances,” Argyle explained slowly, certain that no such devices existed in Wrangled Gorge.
“Oh, fuck, why didn’t you say so? It’s a cell phone. Hell, everyone has those.”
Argyle inhaled and exhaled and then turned back to the door, afraid to ask what a cell phone was and why they were so common in St’s world. He couldn’t imagine Middle Earth populated with Palantir-owning fools and the havoc that would cause as they rode willy nilly over hill and plain with a Palantir tucked under each arm. “How are we going to get him to open the door?”
Glimmergroin hefted his axe with a grim smile. “I’ll get it open for you, lad.”
Legless and Hal-drear squeaked in unison and leapt away from the dwarf. Long experience had taught them to be wary of Glimmergroin’s axe.
“Whoa, hold on there.” Stu’s first instinct was to duck, but he refrained. “Let me have a go, first, then we’ll resort to breaking and entering.” He waited until the dwar had moved and was certain he was not about to be decapitated or have a hole drilled into the top of his foot by the butt of the axe, before stepping up to the door. “Uh, Denture? Lord Denture?”
Argyle winced and Fairy-Man groaned.
Stu continued. “My name is Stewart Marti, I’m from Ringgold—don’t worry if you never heard of it, it’s a pretty small place. Anyway, I fought with your son. I mean—“ Stu frowned. “I fought beside your son, on that plain, uh, Dagger Glad? He was a good friend of mine and I sure would like to come up and talk to you about him. Sharing memories like that is kind of a custom where I come from.”
To everyone’s utter amazement, the wooden door creaked open and a grizzled gray head poked out. “I’ve seen you, in the Palantir.”
“Oh, coo, has it got one of those little cameras in it? A buddy of mine has a cell phone like that and he used to send everyone pictures of his kids. He stopped, though, after one time, he got carried away and accidentally sent out naked pictures of his wife while she was getting out of the shower.” Stu ruefully shook his head. “She was madder than a mashed cat.” He took a small step forward. “Can I come in?”
“What did he say?” The Steward asked.
“I have no idea,” replied Argyle with a sidelong glance at Legless. The elf’s blue eyes widened and he spread his hands helplessly.
“I said, can I come in? You know, just to talk. I don’t want your throne or anything. I think I have one, though I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it.” Stu threw a glance at at Legless and tried not to consider the implications of being a Prince Consort. There were lots of things about his relationship with the elf he tried not to contemplate.
“You won’t try to take my Palantir, will you?”
“Naw, hell, I can’t think of anybody I need to call.” Stu nudged his way through the door and missed the Steward’s puzzled frown. The door closed behind him with a bang.
Argyle threw up his hands and turned to Fairy-Man. “Now what?”
“He’s your friend,” was the answer.
“Denture’s your father.”
“Denethor.”
“That’s what I said,” countered Argyle with a snarl as he turned away from the tower.
*~*
Arween stepped from her liter and stared at the tall city gates. This could have been hers, she lamented, if she hadn’t become infatuated with a strange mortal, had too much to drink at a party and played “giddy up” with a visiting General from Gonads. How unfair life could be. What was the point of being an elf if the Valar were going to be so cruel?
“Come along, Arween,” said Frito. “I can hard wait to see Argyle. I know you must be just as excited.”
Arween did her best Elrond-Dignified-Lord-of-Imladris-Look. “My emotional state is beyond measure.” She cuddled little Boomer to her breast and marked resolutely behind her husband while trying not to step on the backs of his heels.
As Frito and Arween passed through the city, they heard a fantastic yelling and turned to see Pip and Mary running towards them. Just behind them was Legless and Hal-drear, followed by Orphan and Rummy. Arween almost wept when she saw Hal-drear. His face fairly glowed and his eyes sparkled. Nimble hands rested protectively over his belly. Argyle dragged his feet behind the entourage and Glimmergroin brought up the rear; leaving a path of ducking citizens in his wake.
“Fuck, you are huge!” She said without thinking.
“You are not exactly petite,” Hal-drear countered, eye-balling his lover’s former intended. His darker-than-his-white-blond-hair eyebrow lifted as he sneered.
“Remember, Hal-drear, you are supposed to be a Queen,” Legless intervened.
Pip sniffed and whispered an aside to Mary. “Old Hal-drear is spot in, then, isn’t he?”
Mary stifled his giggles. “Where’s Sam? I thought for sure Sam would come, so as he could have one last peek at the elves.”
Frito shook his head. “He’s getting more than a peek at the elves, I am afraid. He took up with Gildor on the way back to the Shire. Seems the exile is a pervy hobbit fancier.”
“Well, who’d have thought it,” breathed Pip.
“I wish I had,” sighed Mary with a wistful expression.
“Where are all the pervy dwarf fanciers?” Inquired Glimmergroin with an injured air.
“It’s the bushy beard.” Orphan reached down and brushed at the tangled mass flowing over Glimmergroin’s chest. “The volume of unkempt facial hair is overwhelming.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, pointy ears.” The dwarf set the end of his axe squarely on Rummy’s foot.
Arween brushed past Hal-drear oon her way to greet Argyle. “Do your roots, cousin,” she hissed through a forced smile.
“Go on a diet.”
“Argyle,” Arween pressed against the former park ranger and smiled radiantly, flashing her large teeth. Behind her, someone neighed, and the group began twittering nervously. She growled low in her throat. The nervous twitters ceased.
Argyle adjusted the neck of his tunic. “Arween. How good to see you again. You and Frito are looking well. As is little Boomer.”
“Arwen,” she corrected.
“You called me Argyle.”
“Whatever,” she threw up her hand and hitched Boomer higher on her shoulder. Maybe life in the Shire wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “Where’s the Steward of Wrangled Gorge?”
Legless growled and everyone stepped away from him.
“He’s with Denture,” Argyle said quickly.
“Who?”
“The Steward.”
“I can’t wait to see him.”
“Denture?”
“The Steward.”
“That’s the Steward.”
“Not that Steward; the good looking one with the extraordinarily large—“ Her sentence was interrupted by loud screams and pounding feet as everyone, including Argyle, fled. Looking around, Arween saw Legless with his bone-handled knives clutched in his hands. “Elf fetish.”
*~*
Much later that evening, long after super, the party gathered in the courtyard beneath the White Tower. As a body, they stared up at the tower window where pale yellow light streamed.
“What the fuck?” Whispered Eyore-More as he sat down on the edge of a fountain.
Argyle shook his head in despair. “I am afraid the Palantir has worked its evil magic.”
Legless’ head was cocked to the side as he listened. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
Fairy-Man exchanged looks with Aye-O-Win. “What are they singing?”
She shrugged her elegant shoulders and linked her arm with his. I do not think they are singing, Fairy-Many. I think they are being tortured by images in the Palantir.”
“That very well may be,” replied Grandlaff as he leaned on his staff. “The Palantir is a powerful bit of magic.”
The tower door opened and out walked Denture and Stu arm in arm. Each carried a wine bottle. They staggered towards the group, who all save Legless and Eyore-More, took a collective step back.
“…Sixty-six bottles of beer on the wall, sixty-six bottles of beer; Take one down, pass it around…Sixty-five bottles of beer on the wall…”
Stu hiccoughed and staggered. “Whoa, hey, everyone.” He tried to execute a bow, but his feet tangled with Denture’s and he tripped. Spinning and waving his arms, Stu tried to recover his balance. Just when he had both feet more or less planted on the groun, his butt bumped against a statue and he howled in panic. He leapt, collided with Denture and fell backwards into Legless’ open arms. Denture, deep in his cups, fell over with a loud crash and landed face first in the fountain.
Eyore-More jumped up with a shout, and brushed at his wet clothing. “What the fuck.”
“Stu, are you all right?” Frito rushed
forward to check on his friend.
“Oh, sheesh.” Stu closed his eyes. “The worldz a-sspinnin’
someshin fierce.”
“We should get him to bed,” said Arween from behind the safety of the dwarf. “He needs to sleep.”
“Perhaps something in his stomach.” Argyle gingerly picked up Stu’s discarded wine bottle.
“Besides Legless,” said Mary.
Pip gave his friend a dirty look. “I think you’ve become a pervy human fancier.”
“Ack! No, Pip.” He leaned over and whispered in his friend’s ear.
“EEWWW! That’s gross, Mary.”
The group slowly moved from the courtyard to the palace. Frito grasped Arween’s hand and she refrained from pulling away. Aye-O-Win drifted towards Argyle, though careful to give Hal-drear plenty of room. Pip and Mary continued their discussion of Mary’s pervy. And Legless carried his happily drunk beloved.
Eyore-More came into step beside Fairy-Man. He said, as he watched his sister lag behind Argyle. “I watched you two at dinner,”
“You did?” Fairy-Man gulped.
“Aye, I did. Funny thing is, I always thought gentlemen preferred blonds.”
“Who says they don’t?” Answered Fairy-Man with a wink and a quick ruffle of Eyore-More’s long, blond locks.
“Hey,” Argyle turned abruptly and collided with Aye-O-Win. “Sorry, Red. Where’s Denture?”
“Shit!” Said Fairy-Man with a guilty start. He turned and sprinted back towards the fountain.
There was a great splashing sound followed by much cursing. After a few minutes, Fairy-Man returned.
“Is he okay?” Argyle asked.
Fairy-Man shrugged and held up the Palantir. “He drowned.” He tossed the globe towards Argyle. “Catch.”