[Kuruharan]

"Owwwww…," groaned Earnur, in a manly fashion. "Tone it down with the whistle!"

Kuruharan abruptly went over to Merisuwyniel.

"After that ghastly poetry exhibition, I fear that Chrysophylax and myself are going to require a cash advance in order to be able to proceed with this quest."

"Eh…?" said Merisuwyniel. Her beautiful face suddenly wore a puzzled expression. "Cash advance? Who said that you were going to be paid?"

"You did!" said Kuruharan. "Don’t you remember our agreement at the council where the deal was that we would go along on a leasing basis? At the time, out of the goodness of my heart, we did not require a deposit. Now, after discovering the hazardous nature of this merry frolic, I fear that our expenses have risen considerably. Chrysophylax insists on buying multiple sets of ear-plugs at the next way station. So, the required deposit is 1,500. You will, of course, be receiving a receipt."

"Fifteen-hundred?!" shrieked Merisuwyniel. "What about the expenses the rest of us are going to incur, partially on a similar investment in ear-plugs?! But we will also have motel bills, food, hay, weapon maintenance…"

"Well," interrupted Kuruharan, "if you’d just bought the port-a-forge before Lord Roneld purchased it you would not have that last problem."

"That is entirely beside the point. Furthermore, there is no way that any amount of ear-plugs is going to cost 1,500," expounded Merisuwyniel.

"Do you think that refusing us is really wise?" intoned Kuruharan. "I mean, do you think that it is easy keeping control of that dragon? He demands the finer things in life, and that includes the ability to block out atrocious poetry. I will not be the one who has to tell him that he can’t have any ear-plugs! You are the one who won’t pay us what you owe us. A trait that seems to be so typically Elven that it’s probably settled into your genetic code."

"This is not the time to discuss that!" snapped Merisuwyniel. "He’s your dragon you tell him!"

"Not me!" said a suddenly cringing Kuruharan. "I’ve seen this dragon eat twelve stout Easterling warriors in two seconds flat, their illogical, improbable armor and all. And he’s not in a good mood. Look at him!"

Merisuwyniel glanced over in the general direction of the dragon. Chrysophylax was stamping along in high dudgeon. He was muttering furiously about how a great dragon of imperial lineage should never have to walk along on the ground and generally be treated like a pack-mule. His head suddenly plunged into the bushes, emerging with the remains of several innocent woodland creatures that he proceeded to chomp furiously. After his snack he playfully let out a small burst of flame, catching some of the trees on fire.

"Surely you can see," said Kuruharan, "that at the very least, his continued fumings will result in an ecological disaster of catastrophic proportions! Being an upstanding, responsible, and tree-hugging Elf you cannot allow that to happen as long as you have money in your purse!"

"Ohh," cried Merisuwyniel, moved with pity for the poor woodland creatures and the poor trees. "Yes, somebody must stop him, but how? He is a dragon and all."

"You can pay us the money you owe us. Your duty as an Elf requires that you do no less! All the poor, innocent woodland creatures, and helpless trees are depending on you! As a matter of fact, all Elves everywhere are depending on you! You can’t let them down!"

Merisuwyniel was so torn between indignation, rage, grief, nervousness, and financial anxiety that she did not even notice that Chrysophylax had pulled out a violin, plopped himself down on the ground, and started playing very sentimental music at just the right pitch to cause the perfect amount of heart-tugging. It was a scene that looked exceedingly odd.

"You’re right!" cried Merisuwyniel. "I cannot allow an evil dragon to rampage about the woods, devouring innocent woodland creatures! It’s up to me to stop him!"

"Of course it is!" shouted Kuruharan excitedly.

"I have to uphold the honor of the Elves!" cried Merisuwyniel.

"And such lovely hands to do it with!" bellowed Kuruharan.

The violin music was rising to a crescendo.

"I have to do my duty!" howled Merisuwyniel, calling on the warrior blood of her fighting ancestors.

"You have to pay me the 1,500 you owe me!" bawled Kuruharan.

"Right!" screamed Merisuwyniel. "Here you go!" she screeched as she handed the dwarf her money pouch.

"And here’s your receipt!" cried Kuruharan. "Pleasure doing business with you!"

Kuruharan abruptly retired to his place in line and the violin music ceased.

"What in the name of the wart on Elendil’s left index finger was that all about?" asked Orogarn Two.

"The honor of the Eldar was satisfied!" said Merisuwyniel dourly. "That will teach that vile worm to mess with the delicate ecology of the woodlands!"

"Whatever," said Orogarn Two. "By the way, if you look back you can still see The Last Home-Grown Cows! Spectacular view!"

"Oh, this is going to be a very long quest," moaned Merisuwyniel, her horse stepping over the prone form of Earnur Etceteron who had fallen out of his saddle again.