The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Diamond18]

“Oh well,” said Pimpi, crossing three names off the guest list, “more food for the rest of us, I suppose. Vogy, have you given any thought to who you want as your best man?”

“My best what?”

“Best man. Or elf, I suppose. It’s a human custom, don’t you know anything about that half of your heritage?"

“Er. I have learned a little from you, my dear, and the likes of Orogarn Two and Lord Etceteron, but I’ve never attended a human wedding.”

“Oh for pity’s sake. Well, the bride and groom each have a friend stand up with them. I’m going to ask Merisu to be my maid of honor. Or matron of honor. I’m a little confused about that. But anyway, you need a best male-of-the-species to stand up for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the custom.”

“Well...” Vogonwë seemed unduly adverse to the idea, and suggested, “what about hobbit wedding customs? Can’t we follow those instead?”

“Unless you want to do the Pumpkin Shoe Dance, no.”

“Well, I’m half-elven. We could just do it the Elvish way... you don’t even need witnesses for that....”

“No! We’re having a proper wedding!” Pimpi insisted. “One that’s followed by a big feast. Now go ask someone to be your best man. Maybe Gravlox will do it.”

“Are you insane? I killed Gravlox, and I let the dragon eat his pet bunny.”

“But it’s a new day and all is forgiven.”

“Look, maybe he’s not out for revenge, but you just don’t ask someone you killed to be your best man. Er, best orc.” He took a long look at Gravlox, who was canoodling with Merisu across the glen, and said, “Or maybe best elf. Whatever it is that he is nowadays.”

“But--”

“I’m not asking Goldilox over there to stand up in my wedding, and that’s final!”

“Fine. Windsor then.”

“No!”

“Why not? He saved my life, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s a big hero. I don’t want that short little twerp as my best man.”

“Best hobbit,” Pimpi correctly haughtily. “And need a remind you that I too was once short, before I ate the magic beans?”

“Never that short,” Vogonwë insisted petulantly.

“You have something against short people?”

“I have nothing against short people. ‘Twerp’ was, I believe the operative word in that declaration.”

“Fine. Be that way. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. Pick someone to be your best man, I’ll be over there asking Merisu to be my maid of honor.” With that, Pimpi flounced off.

Vogonwë pouted for a few minutes, and then wrote sullen poetry for the next half hour, while Pimpi and Merisu, giggling like schoolgirls, went off to find a wedding gown for the bride.

He was working on a bitter haiku when Halfemption ambled up and read over his shoulder:

If Kuru was here
I could just pay him to stand
Up as my best dwarf

“Very bitter,” Hal remarked. “Nice.”

“Hey, Hal!” said Vogy, brightening. “I forgot you were here. What are you, exactly?”

“That’s a good question,” answered Hal. “Hold on a moment while I go find out.”

He walked away and was gone for several minutes, digging into his genealogical information, and presently returned, declaring decisively, “I am a half-half-elf, or quarter-elf, if you will.”

“That’s great. Would you like to stand up in my wedding as the best-half-half-or-quarter-elf?”

A small tear glistened in the corner of Hal’s eye, and he said, “How kind of you to ask. What an honor. Best-half-half-or-quarter-elf? Me? But, surely you jest.”

“I have never been more serious in my life.”

“I’ll do it,” Halfemption said, and gave Vogy’s hand a hearty shake. “Shall I also make a toast at the reception?”

Vogonwë gave it a moment’s thought and asked, “Is that the custom?”

“Um, yes.”

“Then I think you’d better.”

“Splendid, I shall go work on that right now,” said Hal, and went off happy in the knowledge that he was currently a valued member of the Itship. Several years on an island can do that to a person.

*

Pimpi and Merisu, meanwhile, were digging through their trunks in search of Pimpi’s favorite gown.

“Pimpiowyn,” Merisu asked thoughtfully after a moment, elbow deep in taffeta. “Are you quite happy with your situation?”

“Eh?” asked Pimpi, untangling an old pair of socks. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just noticed that you and Vogy were fighting over something before. And it worried me,” replied Merisu with sweet concern. “You see, Gravlox and I never fight, or have disagreements, or elbow each other in the ribs. Ours is a romantic, lovey-dovey sort of relationship, and I cannot imagine being truly happy unless I were completely smack-faced in love with my intended.”

“Well that’s easy to explain. You’re an elf. I’m half hobbit. We’re the pragmatic sort.”

“Yes, I suppose. I just want to know that you are completely happy.”

“I am. This is my pragmatic hobbit version of being smack-faced in love. And besides, I’ve gotten so used to Vogy’s annoying bits -- the poetry, the insufferable elven haughtiness, the petulance, the.... er, what was I saying?”

“You’ve gotten used to all that.”

“Yes, I’ve gotten so accustomed to it that even his annoying bits are a like a comfortable old shoe. If I wore shoes. But anyway, if we should part I would miss even the worst of his poems. That, and if I found someone new I’d have to get used to all his annoying bits too.”

“Well. That’s... inspiring.”

“Isn’t it?” Pimpi smiled. “Oh! And look, here’s my dress!”

With a flourish she pulled out her favorite gown. It was the gorgeous gown that Lord Celery had bought her, oh so many years ago, in Topfloorien. A dress of black velvet, cut low at the neck, adorned with ribbons of golden embroidery, with flowing, gauzy, fluid, filmy, flimsy, diaphanous, gossamer, sheer, tiffany, ethereal, preternaturally gosh darn beautiful red sleeves falling gracefully to the ground and of a width and length that made any practical action of the wearer nearly impossible.

And this description is in no way cut and pasted from any previous post of any kind. Honestly!

*

The time finally came for the wedding, and Manuël Santana got out his Ever Lovin’ Guitar Strap for them to swear their vows by. It was a magnificent piece of leather, decorated with seashells, and all present gasped as one to behold its magnificence.

“Like, dude/ttes! Now the bride and groom will, like, exchange the totally groovy vows they both have written.”

Vogonwë, in an extreme fit of nervousness, forgot his vows and was forced to sheepishly dig through his pockets to find the scrap of paper he’d composed them on. He unfolded the crinkled paper, now damp from his sweaty palms (really, some days it just does not pay to be half-human) and cleared his voice.

“Oh I'm a lucky fella,
I'm a lucky boy,
I've got a new umbrella,
And it's me pride and joy!”

“What the...?” Pimpi said indignantly.

“Eep,” eeped Vogy. “Wrong scrap of paper. That’s, um, a children’s rhyme I was working on. Hold on a moment.”

He rifled through his pockets some more, but when he could not find his vows, he succumbed to a panic attack and fainted rather ignobly. Halfemption, fulfilling his duties as best-half-half-or-quarter-elf quite admirably, caught him in time to prevent him from cracking open his noggin on the ground.

“Smelling salts!” Pimpi cried, and an unknown personage helpfully provided her with some. She waved it under the groom’s nose, and he sputtered to life.

“Maybe we should, like, dispense with the personalized vows and just go with the usual,” suggested Manuël, and Pimpi agreed.

“Groovy. So, dude, repeat after me. ‘I, Vogonwë Brownbark, Son of Geppetuil, Elven-party-king and third cousin of Thranduil, thrice removed, do take Pimpiowyn Took, daughter of Éohorse Son of Needahorse, a Valiant Man of the Mike, to be my lawfully wedded wife, and I do solemnly swear by the ever lovin’ guitar strap of Manuël Santana, that I will love and cherish her for as long as we both shall live.’”

“Mama?” croaked Vogonwë. “Why are you sleeping in the dishwater? Mama? Can you hear me?”

Pimpi looked at the smelling salts dubiously.

“Duuuuude, just say ‘I do’,” Manuël said with a sad shake of his head.

“I do.”

“Groovy. Do you, Pimpiowyn Took, take this pathetic heap of half-elvenness to be your lawfully wedded husband, etc. etc.?”

“I do,” said Pimpi.

“Excellent! I now pronounce you, like, totally hitched!” Manuël played a riff on his guitar, and the deal was sealed. “Now, let’s paaaaaaaaaaaaaaar-tay!”

[Rimbaud]

And now, indeed, after an exceptionally lengthy guitar solo and a couple of impromptu line-dances, it was Hal’s turn to stand and make a brief speechlet.

Sadly, he failed in this endeavour, and produced a speech so mind-blowingly dull, long-winded and only tenuously connected with the nuptials at hand that it lulled the assembled into a stupefied silence. Here I will provide brief excerpts from this turgid tumescence of language; the most edifying and indeed edible selections of his pun-strewn prose.

“Pimpiowyn Took and Vogonwë,” he started promisingly, but it sank faster than a Pop Idol runners-up career after that. “Pimpi and Vogy. Pimps, and if you’ll allow me, the Voganator.” Here he paused, as if to let these mellifluous introductions float like scum on top of the placid, village pond of proceedings.

“So, yes,” he restarted. “Quite. Marriage. Getting hitched. The big knot-tying-thang. Yeah. Well, we all have to say after the ceremony that we’ve all just…enjoyed, that the two of them are distinctly more married than they were before. Definitely moving up the scale of being-marriedness. Hic!”

The audience began to shift, restlessly. It is, as many authors have failed to point out, rather difficult to shift in your seat without an attitude approaching restlessness, but still. Or, not still.

“Very suited to each other these two,” went on Hal, relentlessly. “Pimpi is strong, ambitious and loves a challenge – and Vogonwe is that challenge!” he looked up expectantly. Not a titter.

Hal launched into a couple of anecdotes about his late brother, and also some about the deceased Halfullion. His other brother arrived just in time to hear the end of these. Nobody seemed remotely interested.

“Knock Knock?” he cried.

“Who’s there?” replied one person in the audience, flatly.

“Control freak. Now you say control freak who!” cried Hal triumphantly. “Hahahahahahaha! Woo! Hic! Um, sorry. So, what is it with Seinfeld? There are all these clips where someone starts off with 'so what is it about...?'" And so on.

Eventually, Pimpi threw a particularly well-baked scone with such hobbit-power that Hal stopped talking and the party got into full-swing again.

However, sadly for all concerned, Hal awoke shortly after, to complete his toast.

“And I’d just like to say,” he slurred. “That of all the people I’ve seen get married, these are two that I really consider myself to have…met.”

There was some small smattering of applause, and Hal lurched over to latch on to one of the horror-struck bridesmaids for the rest of the evening.

[Thenamir]

Gateskeeper, his robes re-whitened by the gracious Yawanna (who graciously forgave him for the unfortunate accident so long ago), watched the matrimonial proceedings with a joy he’d seldom experienced as a second-rate bad-guy. It was a novel experience to be part of a team in which you did not need to watch your teammates with as much acuity as your opposition -- in which advancement was based on accomplishment and not assassination. It was a bit like being exiled from the cast of Dawson’s Creek. But such thoughts occupied the minds of no one except the poor slob transcribing this history. Especially when it’s time to PAR-TAY!!

And you can only imagine the party that can be thrown by almost-all-powerful semi-demigods. The food was all that Pimpiowyn could have ever hoped for, in quality and quantity, and yet as in her Mogul-induced fantasy she gained not a pound. Vogonwe composed and recited poem after poem, but the wines that Yawanna provided not only gave him tolerable talent but gave everyone else the ability to ignore him at will – and best of all, there were no hangovers! Leninia even tried to compose some music to accompany him, but without the Entish Guitar, her heart wasn’t really in it, and she wandered off to a corner table to introspect. Halfemption had to be carried off when he tripped over the light fantastic and sprained an ankle. The Reunified-And-Very-Grateful Ent even took a turn on the dance floor with Merisu, but he had two left roots, and afterwards it was all she could do to hide her limp so as not to make the Ent feel too badly.

As for Gateskeeper, Hal’s toast had given him a marvelous opportunity to catch up on some badly-needed rest. However, once everyone came out of their stupor and the party hit the dance floor, Gateskeeper, remembering the unfortunate accident with Yawanna in ancient times and thus anxious to avoid dancing at all costs, volunteered to deejay with his staff-mounted sound-khaard. Mantoes graciously gave him the gift of unlimited royalty-free access to the complete music vaults of the Lords of Khopy-wight, and thus the hot tunes flowed until the wee hours of the morning – which Manuel was gracious enough to stave off for a few extra hours so that all could party until they dropped. Manuel was a bit unclear, though, on until what dropped, and the sun rather unexpectedly rose when a platter of sushi rolls slipped from Pimpi’s fingers to the dance floor.

But all good things must come to an end, and as the remaining members of the Dance-dance-revolution-ship tottered off for a nap (and the newlyweds for for their nuptuals) Gateskeeper had some time to give thought to his future. Thus the rising sun found Gateskeeper sitting alone on the beach, though why it was looking for him remained a mystery. He was having a difficult time with his own inner conversation, since the second voice which had tormented him for so long was finally gone. It was a pity that Kuruharan had left so early – he had considered recruiting the capsulized capitalist and his fiery friend for the wars against the Eunuchs of the Pea Sea. But being a reformed bad-guy means not only having to say you’re sorry, but rethinking things like absolute power and might-makes-right.

The wars would have to cease, there was no question. The soft wares he created would have to become friendlier to those who used them. But, loathe to give up his high-spending lifestyle, he had to contemplate whether there was a souce of profit that could be as successful as the threatening and extortion with which he had hawked his Great Window. It was time to do a 360 and find new vistas, though he found taking advantage of the hype odd without those impy three players with whom he once associated back at the Networkgaard of Dorktank. But he’d severed all connections with the jobs and the buffets of days gone by, and there was no way to reset his way thru the tangled net of the ether of his past. He would have to shift, to escape, to enter a new line and rid himself of the numb lock that prevented him scrolling to a new page. In short, he would have to delete his past and find the key to getting himself home in CTRL of a new destiny. And then it came to him like a politician to a fundraiser – he could make people happy and make money at the same time by offering music on demand from Mantoes’ gift!

And so, The Gateskeeper was awaiting the assembling adventurous associates, now awakened and arisen from lying awhile abed. Having rid himself of oversupply of the letter ‘a’, the transformed thaumaturge was eager to begin his new life of profiting from good. The new Mr. and Mrs. Gravlox stepped into the new day, and the light of their magnificent coifs rivaled the light of the late-arriving sun. Truly they belonged together. “To the happy couples,” Gateskeeper effused. “I know I’ve not been officially reformed for long, but I’d be honored if you’d accept a token of my gratitude.” He then produced a small, thin box for each of them. “It contains a memento of our adventures together – with a press of this button you will be able to listen to all the songs which we composed, encountered, or mangled in our travels. Unfortunately, it does nothing to improve vocal quality, but perhaps I can do something about that in a later release.” Merisu smiled as she took the musical gift, then leaned in and gave him a quick and perfectly platonic kiss on his boyish cheek. Gravlox shook his hand warmly, thanking him for the gift and for his help in making sure that Merisu accomplished the quest. “And besides,” Gravlox continued, “this will give me some inkling of the things that happened on your noble way. Is there anything that we can do for you to express our gratitude?”

“I could use a ride back to Muddled-Mirth when you go,” Gateskeeper proffered, “and if you could, you know, talk up those little boxes, and let people know where you got them...”

Merisu and Gravlox both rolled their eyes, thinking in unison that the more things change, the more they stay the same. It had indeed been a long and very strange road, but home was awaiting. And who was to say that there were no more adventures to be had…

[Mithadan]

As the celebration stretched on, Sueim happened upon a group of Velour congregating about a punch bowl made of pure mithril. The punch steamed golden vapours as they dipped their mugs into the concoction over and over again. This they had to do because the ladle had been lost and the bowl was too shallow to fill their mugs fully. Thus, as they were half in their cups, they spoke to Sueim.

"Duuude!" cried Manuel. "Good job out there taking on Mogul and his Loyers!"

"Yes", added Mantoes. "You swamped him like a rogue wave."

"Thank you," replied Sueim.

"So, what are you going to do now, dude?" asked Manuel.

"Well," responded Sueim with a grin. "I'd rather hoped that you would take me back as general counsel now that my stint in Muddled Mirth is done."

"No way!" cried Manuel. "Now that Mogul's toast, we don't need no stinkin' Loyers. Actually, we're thinking about banning them in Vallyum."

"Alright then," said Sueim with a hint of a grin. "But you like the work that I did on behalf of Valleyum, right?"

"Yes," answered Manuel. "You were smooth, like the bay on a flat-top morning."

"Them I guess all that's left is to settle up my bill," said Sueim. With that, he produced a weighty scroll which he handed to Manuel. And Velour though he was, Manuel could barely hold the great scroll. "It's itemized," said Sueim. "It covers three ages of work."

Mantoes took the scroll from Manuel and unrolled it. This took some time, and it was nearly morning when he reached the end of the parchment. "One hundred twenty five million gold pieces?" sputtered Mantoes.

"That includes a ten percent courtesy discount," Sueim replied with an even broader grin.

"We don't have that kind of bread," cried Manuel.

"Unfortunate..." said Sueim with a frown. "I suppose I could sue. Maybe get a judgment and execute upon, say the southern half of Valleyum."

"We're all reasonable dudes," whimpered Mantoes. "Maybe we can reach some accomodation. You know. Cut a deal..."

Sueim's grin grew even larger.

*********************************

In later times, the legend of how Chief Justice Sueim received his appointment to preside over the High Court of Muddled Mirth was memorialized in a mighty lay that went as follows:

Mogul went down to Valleyum,
He was looking for an Ent to steal.
He was in a bind
'Cause he was way behind,
And he was willing to make a deal.

He came upon a Loyer
with a legal pad and Mont Blanc,
So Mogul jumped up to the podium
and said "Boy let me tell you what."

"I bet you didn't know it,
but I've got Loyers too.
And if you care to take a dare
I'll make a bet with you."

"Now you're a pretty good Loyer,
But give the Mogul his due.
I'll bet an Orc with hair of gold
Against that Entish soul,
'Cause I think we're better than you."

The Loyer said "My name's Sueim,
And it may be a sin,
But I'll take your bet and you're going to regret,
'Cause I'm the best that's ever been."

Round the Mountain, run Elves run!
Mogul's in the House of Valleyum.
Loyers in the courthouse,
Making lots of dough,
Ready if you are now,
Litigate, go!

So Mogul opened up his case,
and said "I'll start this show."
And Loyers crowded around as he sized up his foe.
Then the Loyers opened their briefcases and it made an evil hiss.
And a band of paralegals joined in and it sounded something like this:

Ipsi dixit, quid pro quo!
Habeas corpus, do si do!*

The Mogul bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat,
And he laid himself on the ground at the Ent's wooden feet.
Sueim said "Mogul just come on back if you ever want to try again!
I told you once you son of a gun, I'm the best that's ever been!"

*The meaning of this last weighty legal term has been lost in the mists of time. Some say it means "Justice shall be done." Others say it means "Pay up, Suckah!"

In still later days, the legend of Chief Justice Sueim grew. Until one day he decided a dispute between some Dwarves and an Elvish King over the damage caused by a dragon after the Elves failed to pay a casino bill. Among the Elves, it is said that Sueim retired under a cloud of scandal after he awarded Dairyland to the Dwarves. But among the Dwarves, he is praised and it is said that he went into the East and and there still, waiting for his next big case... and bill.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Leninia sat at a corner table alone, morosely downing one glass of the excellent wine after another. She had only nipped at the delicious food and all in all, found little reason to rejoice despite the so festive occasion. Sure, a marriage was something wonderful, she supposed, but gazing at one newlywed couple, to say nothing of the other happy twosome (which acted even more the part, though there had been no official ceremony of any kind) only made her feel more lonely than ever – when she wasn’t feeling nauseous.

It was all good and well to have accomplished the Quest, and they were sitting in the most paradisiacal location she had ever seen, but what good was it to have romantic surroundings without someone to share them with her? A longing stirred within her heart, a feeling she had never before known. She wanted to feel a hand in hers, perhaps strong and calloused, perhaps small and grimy – or better yet, both, she thought. She wanted to knit a baby sweater, to cook a stew, to bake bread, to grow vegetables – and when she discovered what was going through her mind, she shrank back in horror.

What thoughts were these?! She wasn’t a housewife, she was a rock star! She couldn’t be tied down to a home, she had to go on tour! She needed the spotlights, the applause, the admiring groupies, the ...

Suddenly she realized the import of the Quest’s success – she no longer had her guitar! The Entish Guitar, that had been her constant companion, that had accompanied both her singing and her travels, was no longer. She had no one with whom she could carry on those endless, bickering conversations, no background music for her singing, and no inspiration for new lyrics and tunes.

Her head sank onto the table and for the first time in her self-determined life, she wept helpessly and hopelessly. Where should she go now? The Marrow-Bones studios would have no use for her anymore. Her fans had probably already forgotten all about her and voted for new idols and superstars. There was no one who cared whether she came back to Muddled-Mirth or not.

A gentle hand touched her on the shoulder. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose defiantly before donning a professional smile to face – Chanessa and Vairsacë. They smiled back, tactfully ignoring the blurred mascara and smeared lipstick.

“We don’t normally, like, do business talk at parties,” Chanessa said, “but it looks like some of your friends are heading home already, and we wanted to be sure we could talk to you before you decide to go.”

Leninia raised a finely-chiseled, questioning eyebrow.

The demi-goddess continued. “We have a groovy proposition for you; of course you can refuse it, but perhaps you will at least consider what we have to say.”

“You see,” Vairsacë explained, “our life isn’t just partying, surfing, tanning and all that; our husbands are often gone on their own business, so we wanted something to give our life purpose and meaning. I’m into fabrics, designing and weaving beautiful material, and then making gorgeous fashions of it. And Chanessa is a wonderful model; she does the catwalk presentation and choreography and selling part of it.”

“Yeah,” Chanessa added, “it’s just the two of us, ‘cause Prada’s so busy with her star promotion agency, and Yawanna with her landscaping business – and Estë-Lynn is way too restful for a competitive business like fashion. She does some therapeutic artsy-craftsy stuff, but there’s really no money in it, at least not the kind we want to make.”

“Anyway,” she went on, “we have some boutiques here in Valleyum, and they do pretty well, but we’ve been thinking about expanding to Muddled-Mirth. You see, there aren’t a lot of new customers here, except for those who go to Vair’s husband’s halls, and it takes awhile before they have a body and want some new clothes again.”

Vairsacë nodded. “We noticed that you have a good fashion sense and a great figure – bit short, perhaps, but definitely thin enough – and wondered if you’d stay here for a bit, learn the business, and then set up some chain stores in Muddled-Mirth for us. You see, we’re not allowed to go into business there ourselves, so we need a franchise taker. What do you think?”

Leninia’s sharp mind worked at top speed, and she realized what was offered her even before they spoke. Yet she was acute enough not to sell herself too easily, and so hesitated strategically.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, “I’ve been thinking about the possibility of a more permanent relationship, maybe even a family sometime...” Her voice trailed off with a well-calculated touch of yearning.

Now Chanessa’s eyebrow raised. She looked around at the wedding guests and asked, “I don’t suppose you have someone specific in mind?”

Leninia was constrained to shake her head regretfully. As always, the only good ones, if there were any, were taken.

“That’s no problem,” Vairsacë contributed. “After all, we have husbands. The modern female can have both, her wedding cake and business too. How about letting us show you our boutiques and deciding then?”

Leninia’s spirits lifted. Perhaps her future did not look so bleak after all. Who knew what might come later? At any rate, she had something to do and someplace to go now. She waved a pale, languid hand in the direction of anyone who might take notice, and left the festivities.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The morning after the wedding dawned, as mornings are wont to do. Had the festivities taken place at any other location than the Blessed Lands of Valleyum, the site would have been wreaked with havoc. But either Manuël had waved his pipe over the scene and removed all signs of debauchery, or whatever was in that pipe caused the sight of those present to blur – and if they did see any mess, they no longer cared.

The list of guests had grown thin – the Velour, who were immune to any aftereffects of carousing, had put on their water attire, shouldered their sürfbôrds, and gone to enjoy a fine day at the beach. The newlyweds were nowhere to be seen, and it must be assumed that they were out checking the real estate possibilities for a nice cottage in Valleyum’s suburbs.

Merisuwyniel and Gravlox had packed their belongings for the journey back to Muddled-Mirth, and Squire Windsor was attempting, more eagerly than skilfully, to assist them. Now the Elven couple stood before Yawanna, conversing earnestly with the Green Goddess.

“It’s not quite a luxury liner,” she said, “but it will get you back to the Eastern lands safely enough. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here? You alone, my dear Merisuwyniel, uttered no wish, and I would gladly fulfil one if you so desire.”

The Elf shook her golden locks most becomingly. “I thank you,” she replied, “but my desire is to return to the lands of my people. I do have one wish though.” She hesitated, then, encouraged by Yawanna’s friendly smile, continued: “I have grown accustomed to leading others on this quest. I would like to have a realm of my own to rule, so that I can go on telling others what to do more conveniently. Of course it would be for their own good...” Her voice trailed off.

“Naturally!” the goddess exclaimed. “That would be just the thing for you! And it’s no problem to arrange – you see, Saladriel and Celery have no heir, and as the daughter of her sister, you are the next of kin to them. Are you willing to aid her in this task?” she asked, turning to Gravlox.

He stood tall and erect, his weapons gleaming at his side. “I will strengthen the defenses of Topfloorien with my military experience. Together, we shall see the Hidden Realm prosper and its malls expand. Our combined wisdom will make it a refuge for those who love the finer things of life.”

“There will be another task for you to fulfill,” Yawanna added. “For lo! the kingdom of Grundor lacks a king, and the only heir to the Lord Denimthor, Proctor of Grundor and Guardian of the Porcelain Throne of Minus Teeth, has perished in this most perilous quest. Denimthor is old, and when he is no longer, the people will be lost as sheep without a shepherd. And yet it is known to the Velour that the line of the kings of Grundor has not yet completely failed, and there is one who has the right to claim the throne.”

“Who is he?” Merisu exclaimed. “I would love to meet him.”

“Oh, you already have – he’s here,” the goddess replied.

Merisu and Gravlox both looked in the direction she showed them, but they could not see a potential king, only Hal, still stupored after the night’s carousing. Puzzled, they looked to Yawanna for explanation.

“All that is cold does not shiver,
Not all those who squander are posh.
One arrow is left in the quiver,
One garment returns from the wash.

From the gutter a king shall be woken,
The blight of his shadow shall flee,
Renewed shall be denture once broken,
and white crowns restored all shall be.”

Merisu and Gravlox were even more puzzled by those cryptic clues. “But what does that mean?” the Elf asked.

“The language is archaic and his character barbaric,” Yawanna said, “but there can be no doubt – that ancient poem promises the return of the king to the Wight City. And Halfemption is the last in the line of Noodleorian kings of old.”

Merisu gasped. “But he looks – well, not so fair as his brother looked, though he feels more...”

“But darling,” Gravlox rebuked her gently, “remember that I looked very foul when we first met, and yet you preferred me to the handsome Halfullion.”

“He does not yet appear kingly,” Yawanna admitted, “but that is where you come in. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to aid him – as a matter of fact, your first hurdle will be to get him back to Muddled-Mirth safely and soberly, then to train him for his task until you can find a way to introduce him to his people so that they will be willing to accept his kingship.”

Merisu’s beautiful violet eyes lit up with the religious fervour of a woman who is about to reform a prodigal. “We shall help him to rebuild the city of Minus Teeth,” she proclaimed, conveniently forgetting that its destruction was the work of the Shambles-Ship.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

“What of you, my child?” Yawanna asked the Reunited Ent, who was standing nearby in unaccustomed silence. “Now that you have been restored to life and health, what is your desire – to accompany your friends back to Muddled-Mirth or to remain in these lands, undying and immortal, or at least as close to that as you can get?”

“Hoom, hrum!” the Ent answered, typically but not particularly informatively. “Long have I pondered this question, but my answer depends on your response to my deepest wish.”

“Name it,” the goddess replied. “If it is within my power and within reason, it shall be granted.”

“Though I am now whole, I still feel that part of me is missing,” the Ent continued, “for I lost my Entwife long ago. I wish to see her again, and perhaps we shall at last find somewhere a land where we can live together and both be content. Whether that be here or in Muddled-Mirth, I do not know, but can you tell me where to search?”

Yawanna pondered for a moment before replying. “This is a difficult matter,” she said slowly, “and will require thought and time. Remain here for awhile, and I shall take counsel with my breth/sistren to do what we can. Whether we succeed or fail, I cannot yet say, but when we have attempted, you may still go back to the Eastern Lands if you wish.”

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

And so it came that Merisuwyniel, Gravlox, Windsor, Halfemption, and Gateskeeper, along with their various accoutrements and equine companions, boarded a vessel that looked foul yet felt fairly seaworthy for their return journey. Painted on its side were the letters “Sethamir’s Stable Boats and Shipping Services”, which might or might not have referred to the vessel’s stability but seemed reassuring at any rate.

None witnessed the last meeting between Merisuwyniel and the Ent, for they went apart and spoke long together, but hopeful was their parting, and they looked to the future with the expectation of meeting again.

Thus they sailed into the sunrise, and as they departed, the names of their now absent comrades, the friends they had made in the course of their adventures, and the foes they had vanquished passed before their minds’ eyes. From afar they heard Yawanna’s voice singing across the water, and for a time they could see her, beckoning to them from the white shore: her emerald hair was flying loose, and as it caught the sun it shone and shimmered. A light like the glint of water on dewy grass flashed from under her feet as she danced.

With a wave of her hand she bade them look round, and they gazed down from the ship’s deck over lands under the morning. Those were now as clear and far-seen as they had been veiled and misty when they had stood on the shore of Valleyum. The Blessed Lands were soon no more than a guess of blue and a remote white glimmer blending with the hem of the sky which spoke to them, out of memory and old tales, of its high and distant mountains. They took a deep draught of the sea air, and felt that a very short journey would bear them to their destination.

“Speed now, fair guests!” Yawanna’s voice called out to them. “And hold to your purpose! East with the wind in your sails and a blessing upon the waves! Make haste while the breeze blows! Farewell, Elves and Elf-friends, it was a merry meeting!” One last time they saw her, small and slender as a green reed against the shores, then she vanished and only her song accompanied them on their way back home.


Raise up
Your fair and noble head;
Day is dawning,
No time to stay in bed.
Wake now
And see what lies before;
Life is calling,
It’s knocking at your door.

Now you can laugh,
I see a smile upon your face.
Perils are past;
Wonderful future’s on its way.
Safe in his arms,
You’re dreaming.

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why does adventure call?
Across the sea
The bright sun rises;
The ship has come to carry you home.

And all is seen
As through a glass,
An image yet fleeting
Comes to pass.

Hope blooms
In the bright light of day;
The shadow’s fading
And only memories stay.
Say now: “Our quest has just begun.”
Green shores are waiting;
You sail into the sun.

And you’ll be there in his arms,
Just ruling.

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why does adventure call?
Across the sea
The bright sun rises;
The ship has come to carry you home.

And all is written,
Finished at last;
A story so lengthy -
Finally past:
This is

THE END