Faramir:
Five tall figures stood in the throne room of Minas Taxi and looked as glum as though they would have just lost all their tyres in the middle of nowhere which, in fact, was the situation.
"A war is now ahead of us", Denethor said and sat down on his throne. "As we speak our spare tyre rolls closer and closer to Mirkwood in the hands of porcupines. I'm afraid we must raid their camp to get our tyre back."
A little chaos occurred from hearing the words "raid" and "porcupine" in the same sentence as Mablung tried to jump out of a window, Damrod hide behind a statue and Húrin who valiantly attempted to slip out of the room unnoticed, bumped into an armor that fell on the floor with great clattering.
"But my lord! That's madness!" Húrin exclaimed shuddering as he picked up a gauntlet. "No offense, of course", he added quickly.
"None taken, it was Faramir's idea, anyway", grunted Denethor.
"But it is the only way", Faramir said clearly offended. "Or do you have any better ideas?"
"Maybe lord Denethor could challenge the leader of the porcupines for a duel, and the winner would get the tyre", Mablung suggested dangling on a window sill.
"Yes", Damrod agreed behind the statue. "Or maybe the loser should have the tyre. Then we could have better chances to get it ba-"
"Right, any other ideas then?" Denethor interrupted loudly.
"What about an undercover operation?" Damrod asked.
"I don't think any of us looks like a porcupine enough to make it work", mused Faramir.
"Hear me out, my lords", Húrin cried. "I think I've got an idea."
And Húrin of the Keys explained his plan to the rest of the men. After a few ooohs and aaahs, they had agreed on a scheme.
"Now, this is still dangerous", Húrin warned, "and all of us won't probably return. I suggest that we take the Houses of Healing and drive as near to the porcupine camp as we can get in secret. Then we shall start Mission Cone Cow."
***
When Denethor, Faramir and a handful of trusty Gondorians marched towards the Houses of Healing, they spotted Ioreth pottering in the garden in a plaid apron and dotted rubber boots.
"I wonder if the porcupines will take us seriously if they see her with us", one of the soldiers muttered.
"I see your point", Denethor nodded glancing Ioreth's everything else but modest straw hat. "Faramir, go tell Ioreth that we will borrow the Houses of Healing and there's no need for her to come along."
Faramir looked slightly distressed, but he took a deep breath and strode after Ioreth who had just disappeared inside.
Outside Denethor's group waited. Nothing could be heard from the Houses, and after a while the soldiers started growing restless.
"Mablung! Go to look what is taking so long there and return to give us a report", Denethor commanded, but after Mablung had gone, it fell silent again, and there was no sign of anyone coming back to crouch behind a fence where they were hiding from Ioreth. Finally Denethor sent Damrod after Mablung to find out what was going on, but after an hour when their knees crunched from all the squatting, Denethor cried: "That's it! We're going in."
Húrin of the Keys kicked the door in, and Denethor and the soldiers rushed into a cozy lobby. On a bench there sat in a row Faramir, Mablung and Damrod, each of them holding a big glass of milk, and a cookie tray was set in a little table in front of them.
"Lord Denethor, what a marvellous surprise!" Ioreth beamed. "I was just about to tell these young lads a story of my cousin's neighbour, a horrible incident it was, now she's moved, naturally, after such inconvenience that the neighbour caused - I still feel bad for her peonies although I, of course, told her that she should have planted daffodils in the first place..."
Faramir looked at his father and shrugged apologetically while Mablung and Damrod looked seriously agitated.
"Uhm", Húrin hesitated, "excuse us, but we would like to borrow the Houses of Healing for a military mission."
"Oh, that's right, these dearies here already told me", Ioreth said and leaned forward to pinch Mablung on the cheek. "Shall we go then", she said briskly, wrapped a scarf around her neck, placed goggles on her forehead and sat in a fluffy easy chair behind a wheel. "Well, lads, to the pedals, march!" Ioreth smiled and gestured to the back of the room.
The colour escaped from the Gondorians' faces when they slowly understood what Ioreth meant.
"Now hold on a moment!" Denethor rasped. "Is the Houses of Healing a
pedal car!"
"Do you have any idea what exhaust fumes do to convalescents? No, my dear Denethor, I couldn't risk a healing process with pollutants. My cousin had once a terrible case of coughing, and I told her, mark my words, a cough and pollutions go together like mustard and strawberries-"
"Mustard and strawberries?" Faramir couldn't restrain himself.
"Yes, my dear, meaning, of course, that it is a horrible combination, that's one of my own proverbs - now where was I..."
"Ioreth!" interrupted Denethor. "I sure do hope that my men pedal as quickly as your tongue goes for every lost moment weakens our chances to get our tyre back. Let's go!"
"Very well, very well, although you must know what they say about wise men and rushing although my cousin-", but seeing the interesting shade of red upon Denethor's face made the woman hush up. "Right, take your seats, dearies. Remember seatbelts, everyone. Here we go."
And with that the knights of Gondor started pedalling, and afterwards when the whole race was over, songs were made of the Houses of Healing zooming down the circles of the White City with a woman in dotted rubber boots behind the wheel.