[Estelyn Telcontar]

Orogarn Two bounded into the clearing, triumphantly holding up two slain birds. “Fair is fowl, and fowl is fair!” he declaimed.

Vogonwë’s hopeful glance turned dark as he saw the spoils of the hero’s hunt. “Crebain from Dunland,” he muttered. “They hover through fog and filthy air.”

Merisuwyniel stumbled, albeit gracefully, into the clearing, her lovely eyes reddened in a most becoming way. “When shall we two meet again?” she moaned. “In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

“When the hurlyburly’s done, when the battle’s lost and won,” spoke a voice most melodiously. Startled, Merisuwyniel looked up and saw – Falafel. “You can speak too?” she blurted. “But you have never done so before!”

“Well,” her mare answered, “I couldn’t go letting those male equine companions have the last word, could I? Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, about him whom you think lost:
Lesser than the Elves, and greater.
Not so happy, yet much happier.
He shall share their Fate, though he be none.”

“Say from whence you owe this strange intelligence? Or why upon this blasted clearing you step my way with such prophetic greeting?” questioned the Elven maiden.

“Let’s just say I have well-informed sources,” Falafel said enigmatically. “Now, shouldn’t you be cooking those birds?”

Voices could be heard approaching the camp. “Let the Itship beware!” a strange voice warned, its ethereal beauty proclaiming its Elven origin. “For there walks a power in the Forest whose wrath they will arouse at their peril.”

A well-known Dwarven voice answered gruffly, “Nonetheless they will have need of wood.” Kuruharan, his sturdy arms laden with logs and branches, walked out of the deceptive shadows of the trees. “Hi! Chrysophylax, here is work for you!”

The dragon awoke, obligingly belching a spurt of flame in his direction. Fortunately, the Dwarf had quickly dropped his load and dodged to the side. Behind him, Tofu stepped proudly, well aware of the importance of his news, yet willing to wait until the stage was set for his grand declaration. In his wake, an Elf followed, exclaiming “Vogonwë!” as he laid eyes on his relative, thrice removed. When O Lando saw the sleeping beauty of Pimpiowyn, he rushed over to give her the required waking kiss, alarming his jealous cousin. Whether it was the magic of a pure Elven, wholly immortal kiss or perhaps the smell of the now cooking fowls that was responsible, the result was the desired one – she opened her luminous eyes and smiled beatifically.

“Are you going with us?” she asked dreamily, too bemused to wish his attention to cease.

In the meantime, Merisuwyniel had succeeded in getting both Vogonwë and Lord Etceteron to produce the edible spoils of their hunt, adding them to the stew. “Double, double toil and trouble,” she chanted softly, “fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.” She sniffed suspiciously at the herbs, whose fragrance arose from the pot. “Just what did you put in there?” she asked Earnur.

He was spared the necessity of trying to remember just what his pouch contained by the sound of a voice dramatically declaiming: “Friends, horses, sentient weapons, lend me your ears!”

Wot ears? Wylkynsion asked, but his objection went unheard and unheeded.

Tofu continued, clearly enjoying the full attention he was getting. Even Baklava had opened his eyes and was listening. “My master, the brave Lord Halfullion Gormlessar, has been taken captive!” He paused, savouring the open-mouthed astonishment of all but O Lando and Kuruharan, who had of course already heard the news. “Orcs overcame him and bore him away.”

“And you did nothing about it?” Baklava asked disdainfully, nonchalantly flexing the legs that had only recently accounted for two of their enemies.

“Alas, they were far too numerous,” explained Tofu hastily. “I deemed it more wise to obtain the assistance of a larger company to rescue him.”

“Did you see in which direction they went?” Merisuwyniel asked.

The horse hung his head ever so slightly. “Darkness took me,” he confessed, “and I strayed out of thought and time, and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell.”

“Well, then there’s no hurry,” Pimpiowyn said. “We can eat our meal first, then look for him afterwards.”

“When in doubt, always follow your nose,” O Lando Bloom suggested. “My Elven nose will find the orcs and lead you to their hidden fortress.”

“But who are you, and why do you come to aid us?” Merisuwyniel asked.

After the precise nature of the family ties between Vogonwë and him were explained, a rather confusing account, since both tried to talk at the same time, she welcomed him, saying, “You may most certainly join our company for as long as you wish and can. Yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will.”

They sat down to partake of the stew, which tasted somewhat unusual, whether due to Merisuwyniel’s cooking skills, the nature of the herbs or the origin of the fowls. Cold turkey would have been better, thought Orogarn Two, though he bravely finished his bowl. He then arose, fastened his embroidered gauntlets and proclaimed, “Let’s hunt some orc!”

“Will we find Halfullion in time to save him?” Merisuwyniel wondered concernedly.

“We may, Miss Meri, we just may,” Falafel comforted her.

With that, they mounted their steeds, at least those who had them did, and, following O Lando, riding Tofu by his gracious permission, they left the clearing.