[Formendacil]

"Ah, where were we?" Elrogorn proceeded to say to Hyarmenwë.

"I was just introducing my daughter to you," said Hyarmenwë.

"You were?" said Elrogorn, with a puzzled look. "I could swear that was a couple of months ago."

"No, it was just now," said Hyarmenwë icily.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Anyway, let's get on with this," continued Elrogorn. "You were introducing to your daughter... who is a clone?"

"Yes, I was introducing you to Bobawen, my daughter," nodded Hyarmenwë, then he paused. "A kloen? What is a kloen?"

Bobawen, Fíriel, Aleksandur, and Maika all looked at Elrogorn expectantly. Maika looked, Hyarmenwë thought (wondering why he was noticing) a bit smug. Elrogorn blushed a very attractive shade of pink.

"That, ah, would be... restricted information. Secret Elven information."

"The Elves have been an ineffective and mostly missing force in Middle-Earth for centuries," said Hyarmenwë coldly. "Explain what a kloen is, please."

"Well, they're very anakronistic," began Elrogorn. "They're basically copies of people, grown in laboratories. They were created for the Clone Wars, and generally grow old at twice the rate of normal humans. I assumed the connection was obvious, considering Lady Bobawen's fast rate of growth."

"Copies... of... people..." Hyarmenwë's jaw was somewhat agape. "Then... that means..."

"That Bobawen is not your daughter, but a copy of your wife," said Maika, with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "Told you so." Hyarmenwë's back stiffened, and his jaw found his stiff upper lip.

"Perhaps you did, Lady Maika, but it is unseemly to point it out." Maika own jaw met her upper lip as she cut off a sharp responce.

"Well, what now, then?" she asked, after a couple moments.

"We flee," replied Elrogorn.

"Flee?" Hyarmenwë gave the half-Elf a querelous look. "Why?"

"Can't you hear them?" Elrogorn paused, then gave one of his dazzling, self-effacingly humble smiles. "Sorry, I forget that you don't have near-perfect hearing. There is an army of HobbyISTs on the march."

"What's so dangerous about a hobbyIST?" asked Maika, perplexed. "HobbyISM is pretty harmless."

"Not if your hobby is pillaging, and all that nasty stuff that goes with it," said Elrogorn, with another dashing (though it was of a witty nature this time) smile. "I guess you could also call them followers of Anarchism ."

"I'm fairly sure those aren't real -ISMs," said Maika frowning. "I don't think you'll find either word in a dictionary."

"We can debate anakronisms at a later point," interjected Hyarmenwë firmly. "Preferably a point when I am not present-- or you, if you know what's good for you." He looked at Maika disapprovingly.

"Good idea," said Elrogorn. "Follow me, I know a secret passage."

"How cliché," said Maika with a shake of her head. Hyarmenwë arched a disapproving eyebrow.

"This is Mordor, milady," said Elrogorn, pulling a the rug off the floor with a debonair flourish, and revealing a trap door with a heavy iron ring.

"There's only one thing we need to worry about," Elrogorn mentioned five minutes later, as he, Hyarmenwë, and Maika were down the tunnel, the darkness alleviated only by a flickering torch.

"Oh?" Hyarmenwë asked.

"This tunnel was built by the wereducks, and may still be used by them."

"And you tell us that NOW?" Hyarmenwë was rather displeased.

"It does look like," said Elrogorn absent-mindedly. "Oh look! Feathers!"