There was a buzz of discussion after the guests had read the scroll. The rules were debated enthusiastically. In a brief lull in the conversation, a clear voice spoke, “Hear, hear!” Heads turned to gaze in astonishment upon the speaker.
There stood the Loremistress of Minas Tirith, Estelyn Telcontar, head held high. She looked as royal as was possible with a face brimful with mirth. Her eyes danced, and her lips seemed ready to burst into laughter.
“Many have been sad, thinking that the tale of the Entish Bow has ceased and no more shall be heard of fair Merisuwyniel and her companions. Indeed, the Bow has been avenged, for those who hewed the Ent were slain, yet are still many parts amiss that are needed complete its reunification. The tale shall continue shortly; therefore let those who assisted me in its telling hear this call:
Arise, arise, Writers of Théentishbow!
Fell puns awake: spoof and parody!
Humour shall be shaken, canon be shattered,
Poetry slaughtered, ere the Itship succeeds.
Write now, write now! Write in Gondor!
“All those who participated in the story are requested to assemble at the discussion thread,” she continued. “There shall we meet anon.” With those words she opened the door, letting in a breath of fresh air, then disappeared in the blinding sunlight.
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
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