[Rimbaud]

"The bow is...entient?" breathed Halfullion, standing to stare at the finely carved wood. "I can scarcely believe it. So this is the root of the matter."

Merisuwyniel grasped the Bow protectively. "Sit down, my liege," she said firmly. "Don't let this discussion branch out."

Halfullion knew that with him, her bark was worse than her bite, but still he sat, somewhat demurely. She smiled prettily at him.

The Dwarf merchant growled suddenly. "If the Bow is the problem, let us rid ourselves of it!" And with a great cry he swung his axe high into the sky and looked for all the world as if he would smote the great weapon as it lay on the table before him.

"Hold!" came a ringing tone, and Halfullion had bounded back to his feet, his sword out, as if to prove a receiver for Kuruharan's assault upon the curved horn before them. "Get thee hence, Dwarf. This bow requires more courtesy."

"I am no chicken," muttered Kuruharan, but he withdrew. Halfullion again returned to his seat and an uneasy silence fell upon the Council. The air was warm and soothing against their skins, and slowly, the relaxation of the valley seeped into them, and the tension dissipated. Yet still, Halfullion felt the eye of Lord Roneld, the chief agent of the Elves in this place, upon him. Finally, the mood between them snapped, as Roneld leaned forward to stare straight at Halfullion. The great Knight felt beads of sweat form on his broad and manly forehead as the Lord seemed to gaze into his very soul. The black lenses of the Elf's ocular contraption concealed the eyes, hiding all trace of emotion.

"It seems you have been living two lives, Mr Gormlessar," said Roneld slowly and deliberately. "In one life, you are Lord Halfullion Gormlessar, the Elf-Stoned, a mighty warrior, a Hero, whose deeds excite rumour wherever your great name is spread. In the other, you are Halfull, a philandering, womanising drun..."

Lord Gormlessar hastily cut him off. "This is no time for this discussion!" he hissed. Lord Roneld showed no sign of anger at being so rudely interrupted and merely inclined his head impassively, and sat back in his great chair. Halfullion began to breath again, although he could feel questioning eyes upon him. He smiled around at the assembled, relying on his inherent charisma.

At this point, an odd thing happened. The Dwarf Kuruharan returned bearing several plump and squawking hens. Halfullion sighed. It was Pimpi who laughed the hardest, however, realising that Halfullion's earlier comment had been hilariously misunderstood. A great wave of laughter rippled around the table, leaving mirthful tears in its wake. Halfullion slapped the table so hard that he hurt the palm of his hand. Even Roneld smiled, showing appreciation, even for such paltry humour.

The moment passed, however, and Roneld called the Council to order. "Merisuwyniel is correct," he said. 'The question of this Bow must be resolved now, by these assembled."

"I am half-Elven," suggested Halfullion. "And fair Merisuwyniel is completely that way. Perhaps we are the best to tend to it, we are strong."

"Nay, Sir Gormlessar," interjected Orogarn Two. "Roneld is correct. We must reform or destroy this great item, or else it will become the curse of all of us."

Merisuwyniel frowned but said nothing.

"What then do you suggest?" asked Lord Etceteron, off-hand.

Confused by Etceteron's talking appendage, Orogarn Two took a minute to reply. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "It would take magic beyond us gathered to return it to its owner unscathed. And I know not how to destroy such a great item. My insight, granted me" and he gripped the stone around his neck "tells me that fire will not scorch it."

"No fire we can create..." breathed Merisuwyniel, the sparks of an idea forming.

Halfullion brusquely blew out the candle of her idea. "If you are thinking of trekking to Mordor, you're insane. There is no light there," he said, darkly.