The Changing of the Guard

Chapter One

Blowing in the wind.

One fine morning, Orwell Jackaboots McOdo was sauntering along Pudding Avenue when he chanced upon an interesting event occurring at the Tower of Lore in Upper Needlehole. (Orwell was on his way to gather flowers, but that is entirely another story). The interesting event of which I speak presented itself as follows (as he stood at the lattice gate of the Tower grounds):

Down the long driveway he saw a small cart drawn by two unicorns and driven by Lord Eldorion himself. Orwell stopped and waited for that respectable gentlehobbit to arrive at the gate. The latter looked quite red in the face and flustered and quite sad.

"Lord Eldorion!" Orwell exclaimed deferentially. "If I did not know better I would think you are moving out of the Tower of Lore; for your little cart is filled with suitcases, tea chests and your stuffed cocker spaniel, Toby. What can this all mean?"

Lord Eldorion pulled up outside the gate and climbed down and closed it behind him. "Somewhat unexpectedly," says he, "I have been removed fom my High Office in a bloodless coup." Lord Eldorion seemed calm, fatalistic even. He sighed before further stating (quite analytically, as was his way): "I suppose coups are often unepected." He then sighed again. "I suppose it was time, on reflection. You know, she said I was a wee bit too liberal, too thoughtful, too understanding and patient, and tolerant to an inordinately extreme degree, and apparently no one in Forumshire wants that from an Administrator or CEO."

"My goodness me," Orwell retorted. "Who ever would be so tactless as to say such things of you, even if we all think it?"

"Amarie for a start. Things have been going a bit sour of late, truth be known, and I suspected she hasn't been altogether happy with me."

"What? Amarie? Your house cleaner!"

"Well, there was actually a little more to the relationship than most people know."

"Working relationship?"

"It had it's pros and cons."

"I hope it didn't get too personal," Orwell expostulated sternly.

"As to that, a gentlehobbit would not like to explicate further. The point is, she has overturned my Rule and has taken over as Administrator..." And Eldorion sighed again.

Orwell was astonished. "You mean your housemaid has toppled you? Your cleaner! How did this happen?"

"Well, last night about eleven pm she became annoyed and said, and, I might add,  quite curtly: 'You seem lax of late, Eldy, unsatisfactory in our bedtime activities, it's like there is no wind in your sails!' I was taken aback, but admit I have felt a little weary of late, what with Administrative pressures and my proneness to thinking and caring too much about my beloved Forumshire."

"Go on," Orwell encouraged him, for he was finding these revelations very interesting.      

"Well, I was taken aback and performed as best I could, none the wiser about certain wind changes - so to speak - and fell asleep..."

"As you do."

"... and in the morning when I woke up I discovered Amarie sitting in an armchair across from the bed and looking awfully cross. Very cross indeed. I said: 'Why, Amarie, you are looking very cross indeed!' And to my instant horror, she raised her voice (which is very unlike her, actually) and she cried: "It's over, Eldy-love. I am taking over. Instead of a Handsome Kind Administrator Forumshire shall now have a Beautiful Pragmatic CEO... or Steward if you like! Pack your belongings and get out. The times are a'changing, they're blowing in the wind!' 'You can't really mean that!' says I. 'And, anyway, by what authority do you propose to instigate this proposed changing of the guard?' 'By the sheer persuasion of this rolling pin I have laid across my lap and which clearly you have not seen, you inattentive hobbit. This is my authority, Eldy, and shall be the symbol of my reign henceforth!' She said all this waving the rolling pin around in a rather assertive way. I made every effort to reject her take over, with persuasion, with song, with a promise to be more attentive in future, but she only got angrier and physically threatened me with the rolling pin. I knew then that the die had been cast." Lord Eldorion sighed again.

"It sounds a terrible terible business, Lord Eldorion," Orwell soiliquised. "I have always held you in a certain regard and must say this news comes as a rather exciting turn of events. What are your immediate plans? A counter attack?"

"Do you mean, am I going to the Muck and Duck for lunch? You Ozhobbits and your collequial terms: 'counter attack'. Yes, I do think I'll go to the Muck and Duck for a 'counter attack'. And Lord Eldorion smiled, a trifle sadly, vaguely amused by Orwell and his funny Ozhobbitstani sayings as oft he had over the years. "I must be on my way. If anyone asks, I have taken up a room at that sordid inn." And Lord Eldorion climbed onto his cart and drove his unicorns down the road toward Rushock Bog.

Orwell stood in Pudding Lane watching his cart as it grew smaller with distance and finally disappeared over a rise.

"Well what strange things happen in Forumshire, I must say. But who is this coming along the lane looking very determind and happy? Why, if it's not that obnoxious hobbit lass, Nora Fowlenmouth, and with - what? Is that a puppy dog she has on a lead?"

A few minutes passed and Orwell discovered that while it was definitely Nora, she had not a puppy dog on her lead but a plant.

"My goodness," Orwell expostulated as she came up. "Is that a pet Ent you have?"

"It is, but I don't see how it's any of your fucking business. Come along Avy," Nora said to her pet plant as she opened the gate. She turned to give Orwell a brief sharp glance as she was passing through. "And that would be 'Avocado' you you, you old poof." And then she was gone, the gate slamming clangingly behind her.

"Fascinating little bitch," Orwell said without heat, as he quite liked her brash and vulgar nature. "And who's this then coming up the road now? My! What an interesting day. If it's not Julia Figg on a rather handsome horse. Good morning Julia. Lovely morning."

"Oh hi, Orwie. Sorry, I can't stop and talk rubbish with you just now. The times are a'changing and I'll have you exactly where I want you shortly, but let's not be hasty. Now open the gate for me. Good old lad. Now close it, but don't bang it shut. I don't like loud noises. Good old lad."

"What a damn fine woman she is," Orwell said admiringly as she whipped her horse up the driveway. "Yes, a cruel woman, but incredibly alluring!'

"Oh my! Here is someone else coming up in a three pony wagontaxi. My, my! How interesting. If it's not that worldly damsel, Azriel. All these women arriving at the Tower of Lore! Amazing! I remember a time when only gentlehobbits were allowed in, except for the hired help - and the occasional feminine ornament!"

"Orwell. Well, you're getting fatter by the day!" Azriel greeted him brightly. "And uglier and more jowly and more middleaged. And probably more perverted too. Though that may not be possible."

"I thank you for the compliments," Orwell said gaily. "I'm sure you jest. But tell me, what on earth is happening?"

"It's all hush hush, flabbychap," Azriel grinned. "Please open the gate for my driver now. In you go Petty. Thanks Orwell. You may close it now... Now, I don't want to let the cat out of the bag at this stage, but I will give you this hint: Forumshire now wears a skirt." And Azriel laughed, though it sounded a bit like a cackle, quite witchy in a way, but by no means unsexy.

Azriel was gone and Orwell stood in the road feeling a certain unease seeping into his unconscious. "I'm feeling unconsciously uneasy for some reason, and I'm not sure why," says he.

Soonafter, Petty returned driving his wagontaxi. That craggy Scotshobbit was looking decidely out of sorts. Orwell opened the gate to let him through. Petty addressed Orwell with a stern gaze.

"Ock tha noo!" says he. "Armoree hus tooken offer! Und eye fear for Foramsheer, I doo. Thar's sumpin fuminun huppnin, Orwull, and i dee nit lik eet!"

You know, my first girlfriend used to call me Eldy, but I haven't heard that name in five or six years. You're taking me way back here, Anon.

I was giggling throughout this (the "counter-attack" line got me the most), but I am genuinely curious to see where you take this, though knowing you I think I might have some idea.

Now, I don't want to let the cat out of the bag at this stage, but I will give you this hint: Forumshire now wears a skirt.

Why would Petty mind? He already wears a skirt.

Goodness gracious! The Bugle is putting out some amazingly good writing now-a-days, I must say.  
Then again, I suppose it has quite the history and reputation of doing just that, so I don't know why I am surprised. Perhaps because noone else has replied yet with their praise!

Edit:
Curses! Beaten by mere seconds by the man himself!

Hey, I was just waiting to get from my phone back onto my laptop.

Aww... Look at sweet Avy... They grow up so quickly.

Chapter Two

The Council of Amarie/Petty Holds Forth at the Muck and Duck - Simulcasted in several parts (probably)

"I have called you here for a most secret council," Amarie said as she sat in the Commercial Chamber of the Tower of Lore. "As you know, I have deposed Lord Eldorion in a bloodless coup, though I did come close to bopping him over the nogging with a rolling pin I can tell you, that inattentive, even if well meaning, young man-hobbit."

"Let's face it, he was always going to be too young for you," Azriel said drily.

"And what with your exercise regime and..err.. life experience," Julia added carefully, "he was always going to wear out."

"I surely have no idea what you mean, ladies," Amarie said primly.

"Either do I," Nora frowned, as she stroked Avy's petioles as that precocious plant sat on her lap at the council table.

"You are quite naive in some ways, Mistress Nora," that precocious plant said. (It was both precocious and sometimes glib as well).

"The point to remember is," Amarie continued portentously. "I took over for the greater good of Forumshire which for too long has been a patriarchal blokey kind of place where no hobbitlass is safe from wrong sorts of behaviour and conversation. I plan to change that - with your help, of course, my fellow hobbitlasses. I have some ideas about engineering change, but being a fair minded tyrantess, I would like to hear your ideas."

"Embroidery Classes for the hobbitlads," Julia offered immediately. "I've been pondering the concept for a long time. I could hold classes for the hobbitlads, and private lessons for Orwell."

"Orwell?" Azriel scoffed. "Private lessons? You demon! Hey, and I heard he always does his own embroideries and sends flower embroidered hotpants to young men of his choice."

"Do you still have feelings for him?" Amarie asked, shocked that anyone could.

"Feelings is a rather strong word, Amarie. Look, it's like this," Julia explicated delicately. "I plan to make a proper hobbitlad of him, through a series of womanly ministrations."

"I thought you wanted to teach him embroidery," Nora interrupted. "And what are womanly ministrations by the way?"

"She plans to do rude things with him," Avy told her.

"Do you mind?" Julia said primly. "You are a garrulous little Ent, aren't you."

"And you are a woman of low morals and high energy"," Avy replied drily, possibly because he hadn't been watered yet today.

"Take that back, you little weed, or I'll dry you out and smoke you!"

"What? You've given up cocaine?"

"You little so-and-so..." Julia breathed angrily, fists clenched.  

"Orwell does come from a family of strong personalities," Amarie quickly interceded, so as to deflect Julia who was about to commit a ghastly act of floracide. "His lineage is full of either girl-crazy rapists or, on occasion, redhot consensual lovers, and none of them could be moved from their peccadillos."

"And our current Orwell's leanings are held just as strongly, apparently..." Azriel put in.

"Well, I plan to convert him to a more normalized type of behaviour. Just see if I don't!" Julia proclaimed on her dignity. "I do so love a challenge. He will soon fall in love with me, you just wait and see."

"But he's such a horrid ugly minded individual - and as old as the hills, which is worse!" Nora gasped. "What a horrid mental image I'm having just now!"

"Too true, Nora. How very nauseas, indeed!" Amarie said, horrified. But she was a tough old bird and she gathered herself quickly. "Now Julia, even if you should lower yourself that far, what will you do with him when the conversion is complete?"

"I will tell him I don't love him any more and so break his pathetic little heart," Julia smiled sweetly. "That will teach him for filling Ol'Anon with so many crass ideas about me."

"And then?" Amarie asked.  

"Well, I guess he can join the embroidery class after that - as long as he doesn't sit next to Petty down the back, as I'm sure they'd just cause a nuisance. His embroidery skills are okay, but I'm sure he'd like to improve them. I'm not totally heartless, you know, it's both revenge and the thrill of the chase that drives me, otherwise I'm quite fond of the old poof."

"Sweet Eru!" Azril exclaimed with a laugh. "Imagine Petty having to do an embroidery class. It would break his spirit completely!"

"Aye!" Julia smiled.




*************    

Petty was holding forth at the Muck and Duck.

"Eye say itz a blutfanny! An ootar blutfanny!"

"Was that 'blasphemy'?" Lance O'Bloke whispered into Dave O'Cranberry's ear at the bar.

"Who would know, sonny," Dave shrugged and promptly downed another Cranberry Surprise. "But shush there, buckaroo, I do believe he's still going to blab on... Yep! He is!"

"Eye um noot goin ta stund for tha chunge ov Udmunastrootion. Eye plunn to poot Uldoo bak oon tha throwen!"

"I don't actually want the job back," Lord Eldorion said peacefully as he sat at a table eating a juicy haggis and nettle pie. "I'm glad to be free of all the demands of the job quite frankly."

"Running Forumshire got too much, did it ?" Orwell asked, quite innocently, as he tucked into a Tuscan Muffinbun.

"Not so much running Forumshire as.. well... keeping Amarie...err... content...So, if you guys don't mind, I'll enjoy my retirement - maybe catch up with some old friends and read a book or two I've been meaning to read for ever so long..."

"Surely you want revenge!" Lance O'Bloke exploded. "Surely you want Amarie's blood!"

"No, I don't," Lord Eldorion said reasonably. "I really don't feel at all bad about it. The initial shock did deflate me, true, but I'm now reconciled and feel no sense of remorse or revenge."

"Wot doo ye knoo ubut eet, Uldoo?"

"Yeah," said Forest Shephard. "I haven't been here as long as others, but I sure as hell think any hobbitlad Administrator, even Eldorion, has to be better than no hobbitlad at all."  

"I didn't know you were sexist," Bungo Bugbiter said in surprise.

"Either did I," Forest said. "But I guess I will be from now on, at least in Wholesome Tales."

"Look you fellows," Lord Eldorion interrupted. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but I really am quite relieved to have been relieved of all my duties."

Petty turned on him like a bandersnatch. "Uz eye alruddee sed, 'Wot doo yee knoo aboot eet, Lawd Uldollian!' Wee knoo wotz gude for us - und doen yee forgut eet!"

"He's right, you know," Orwell said helpfully. "It's not a point of whether you want to run the place or not, it's a matter of none of us hobbitlads wanting the responsibility, nor wanting to be ruled by hobbitlasses, and you being the only hobbitlad competent in any fashion, are clearly the best choice."

"But what about my mental health!" Lord Eldorion complained, almost choking on a piece of haggis gristle. "What about my well being?"

"That is quite selfish of you," Orwell said helpfully.

"Then why don't you do it!" Lord Eldorion exclaimed (quite petutantly).

"Why, you selfish little bastard," Lance chastised him, Lance being one of those hobbits who always spoke his mind. "It's either gonna be you, or I'll blow the fucking place up!"

"Zen eet iz desooded!" Petty proclaimed. "Nuxt - hoo doo wee poot Uldoo buk on tha throwen?"

It's been a while since we had a full on boys vs girls thread. Though I know Petty always found me to be too emotional and New Mannish to regard as unquestionably loyal to the male side.

this is great.

I love it!

Chapter Three

Also in simulcast (and on fucking iPad - but one must not be too emotional or New Mannish about it)(and posted on Ol' Anon's behalf)


"There is always laundering," Azriel offered the discussion. "I don't suppose there'll be a redirection of funds toward implementing an electricity grid, will there, Amarie? Washing clothes in troughs of boiling water with pig fat soap is such a chore. Admittedly, getting the hobbitlads to do it would be good for their souls."

"You raise some interesting points among ancillary points," Amarie commented thoughtfully. "No, in the final analysis, I think we bring in electricity. We have palantir's and wagontaxis so I don't see why we shouldn't have electricity. My handheld hairdryer is so hard to use, no matter how small Halfwise Fysycfreak makes bellows nowadays. He has been begging Lord Eldorion to let him build an electricity grid for years! Lord Eldorion? That should be Eldorion, I suppose. Or Eldo. Much shorter to write."

"Just so," Azriel contributed. "My echidna toothbrush is hard on both of us. But back to my basic intent with suggesting laundering, is there something else of a truly painful nature we can task them with, just to let them know what it's like to be a hobbitlass in a hobbitlad's world?"

"Let's make them pregnant," Nora suggested excitedly. "Amarie says child birth is like pulling the skin from your lady bottom up over your face."

"I thought that was a lady acquaintance of Ol' Anon who said that?" Julia put in.

"My point's the fucking same!"

"Dear Nora, clearly you have been made to be both obnoxious and naive for comic effect by the Author, but I will respond in a motherly way," Azriel said kindly. "Hobbitlad's haven't got a womb to gestate babies in!"

Nora sighed in exasperation. "Well, we'll get Halfy to build miniature ones and I'll insert them up their arses - using a stick for the purpose - and then those bastards can weave their babies and know what motherly pain is."

"Babies aren't weaved, sweetie," Azriel said, even more motherly.

"Yes, they are," Nora was quick to respond. "I read it in a poem.

I have a babe inside my soul,
My loom weaves it into life,
One day the lads of Rushock Bog,
Will take me for their wife.

So don't tell me we can't put a loom up their arses!"

"Nora, I think you mistake womb for loom," Julia put in kindly.

"I think we must move on," Amarie instructed them. "Nora, I will consider the stick but I deem the loom sugestion to be impractical. Do you ladies have any other ideas?"

"It only just occurred to me," Julia put in. "Do you think the hobbitlad's will be taking this coup in all happiness? They might even now be planning to reinstate Eldo on the throne. Or 'throwen' if I know Petty."

And they all laughed, not so much 'with' Petty as 'at' him, which shows you how bitchy hobitlasses can be. In their defence, mind, it's difficult to laugh with someone when they are not present but instead are down at the Muck and Duck holding forth.



...........


"Eye sae, grub your pitch fawkz, hone your uxeses, and lite yor fuggorts, luds!"

"Steady on, Petty!" Orwell reacted violently. "What have faggot lads ever done to you?"

"Wot?"

"Well, it's hobbitlasses we're against, not our own kind, Petty," Orwell said, trying to control his temper.

"Wot?"

"He does have a point," Forest put in reasonably. "Faggots are hobbitlad's, just like the rest of us, and they probably mistrust hobitlasses as much as the rest of us."

"Probably more, in fact," Bungo put in helpfully. "Faggots are often very jealous of hobbitlasses, especially slim boyish ones that latent homosexuals go for."

"Wot?"

"Actually," Halfwise Fysycfreak offered. "They'd probably enjoy knocking them out of the picture altogether and not only turn us all to their turning, but take control of the more stylish shops as well."

"Wot?"

"The point is," Lance spoke frankly. "They're hardly a threat if you stay alert and keep your backs to the wall, it's those sneaky hobitlasses who'll stab you in the back if you don't keep them under your thumb!"

"Wot?"

"Well," Orwell sighed with obvious relief. "I'm glad we cleared that up."


















"E

"Wot?"

Curiouser and curioser.

And I'm conspicuously absent. But, then again.. I am.

Yeah, about that, Blue. You better not be out there having fun at the expense of posting here!

I shouldn't say too much, but let me say this, Ol' Anon hasn't forgotten Amaries's 'nephews', Ringo and Blue.

Chapter 4

The Fjordianlandian Connection

The two young and handsome men from Fjordianlandia sauntered up and down the Forumshire Downs up (and down) from the coast:

Ringo Herring in his Fisk Oceanguard Uniform and Blue Bottlebosoms in the sharp suit he wore for big law cases in Skattykatzenbjorn;  

they were cousins;

and where Ringo was a few inches taller than Blue, Blue was a few inches shorter;

where Ringo was slim, taut and terrific, Blue was less slim, taut and terrific, but nicely rounded here and there;

where Ringo was martial and carried himself with a stiff and regal air, Blue was less stiff and less airy;

they were cousins, and the nephews of Amarie Fruitenloopen (nee Cougarlicious);

and where Ringo was the son of Amarie's brother Orik Bloodenmouth, a bold and violent North Sea Pirate, Blue was the son of Lesley Bloodenmouth, an accountant who played occasional flugelhorn;

Ringo talked quietly and walked with a sense of poise and calm about him, Blue enjoyed to give a little joyful skip now and then because it was sunny today;

where Ringo stopped on the road now and again to shoot squirrels and make little girls pee their pants in horror by pointing his blunderbus at them in their playgrounds and front yards, Blue said: 'This is Forumshire not Fjordianlandia and you could get arrested for that kind of behaviour, Cuz, and don't expect me to defend you, as you know I don't approve of such conduct';

when Ringo stopped in the middle of the road and defied authority on the hedges, Blue scurried out of sight so as not to offend passing Eruvian Nuns;

on Ringo taking out his scratchenboard and singing old Fisk fishing songs, Blue unslung his guitar and played a rather fetching counter melodies that made the old and vicious tars in Ringo's songs sound less rugged and more gay, and the conjoining of light and darkness certainly made them captivating renditions;

on the occasion of two old washerwomen passing, one said, 'I should very much like to place the slightly taller lad's shoes beneath my bed,' the other said: 'Oh yes, but I would take the slightly less tall lad home to meet my rather foppish father, for he looks very reliable';

at last nearing the Tower of Lore, a heavy passengered eagle flew low above them, and Ringo observed: 'That eagle appears to be carrying a troop of goblins of the very worst kind and would seem to be about to land behind the Tower of Lore', and Blue replied, 'I hope they have Passports, goblins often don't you know, and it's usually ones of the worst kind who don't, though I should be careful not jump to conclusions'; and, presently, they passed through the gate of the Tower of Lore;

a sign on the gate instructed potential visitors: PARTY BUSINESS ONLY.

If this weren't so funny it would probably be criminal.

And, going on the accent, I had no idea I had an Irish cousin called Petty!

Not even the newly liberated can resist the Fjordlandians, it seems.

Chapter Five

The Forumshire Party


Julia was reclining with a martini in a Georgian winged back chair (Forumshire style, not necessarily the style one would find in other places, Georgia or Georgian England, for instance).

"I say, things have started well," she purred. "It's not every day you can take sexual revenge on one of the most annoying hobbits in all of Forumshire."

"And, by turn, perhaps the  creepiest, bless his little mohair socks!" added Azriel from her Queen Anne-legged ottoman, sipping her own martini with a delicacy one does not often see in a former Rugby Union Groupy from Manchester, her birthplace. "I must say, this sitting room at the back of the Tower of Lore with it's view over Lord Eldorions avant grade pottager is as good a place as any to sip martinis delicately."

"I never realised Eldo enjoyed plants of all shape and colour so much. Angiosperms, gymnosperms. Mosses. Fungi. I'm sure if we had microscopes we'd find bacteria in the soil and in the plants themselves."

"Along with Protozoa and various Arthropods, too."

"And not to forget earthworms, though being in pots, I'm sure he kept the organic matter up to feed the soil life and thus address the issue of ongoing pot-soil health and fertility."

"Who would know? This is the first I even knew he liked gardening."

"I wonder if he knew?"

"I guess it makes no difference now, him being deposed, and mold and grass in the cracks of the walls at the Muck and Duck being the only flora he'll be enjoying nowadays."

"It's kind of sad, really. He was a kind and thoughtful lad who made Forumshire an open minded and largely carefree place to live."

"That's all fine and doodly," Amarie exclaimed as she sauntered into the sitting room wearing s rather sharp black pantsuit and shiny black boots, capped off with a rather snappy military-style cap. "But some of us care, you know. Care about a lot of things and rarely careless; about Things like Rules for instance, both written and unwritten."

"Why, Amarie!" Azriel replied in admiration. "That pantsuit looks stunning on you. It gives you a homoerotic severity somehow!"

"And I just love the little symbol on your shoulder pads!" Julia applauded. "Isn't that an ancient Hindu symbol of the Aryan hobbit folk?"

"Just so," Amarie cried and clapped her hands and grinned. "Isn't this all so very exciting! You know, I've been thinking about things for quite some time, and, do you know, we three haven't played dress-ups for ever so long!"

"Not since that toga party three weeks ago,". Julia smiled.

"Not that you'd remember much, Julia, you fun-loving drunk!" Azriel giggled. "Do you remember those two Tahititian brothers, perchance?"

"Not all of them, just parts of them," Julia remembered fondly. "But why would we play dress-ups now, Amarie? It's not even lunch time yet!"

"I don't know really," Amarie said, looking idly in no particular direction, though her pursed lips, unnoticed by the other ladies, took on a sly aspect just then. "I mean, doesn't a woman want to be mercurial and unreadable every now and then? And, why not, as I am in charge and we women, when in charge, can have a little fun, and unexpectedly at times, on a whim, perhaps?"

"You design a superb argument," Azriel applauded her. "How audacious! Dress-ups! And before lunch! What an exciting creative free and easy time has come upon us."

"There may now have to be some restraint on the creative free and easy, of course," Amarie smiled sweetly, "as you girls will soon find out, but for the nonce, let's play this game."

"What will I dress up as?"  Julia wanted to know, feeling suddenly very gay and excited.

"What say we dress alike in this rather wonderful pantsuit," Amarie was quick to say. "I had several hundred made up this morning, post haste."

Julia blinked. "But won't we all look like we're in uniforms?"

"But of course!" Amarie laughed gaily. "We can have a martial dress-up party.  I think we'll have a Forumshire Party, and if it lasts a thousand years, then what of it? What of it, I say!"

"Sounds good to me," Azriel retorted just as gaily. "I love dressing up as blokes."

"I know, Azzy," Amarie said compassionately. "I know."

"Hey! What's happening in the pottager?" Julia wanted to know suddenly. "Who's that talking to our Nora? Sweet Eru it looks like goblins!" And Julia drained white.

"Oh never mind them," Amarie said quickly and placatingly. "I just thought we might need some extra security about the place, and it's not like we can trust our hobbitlads at the moment."

"What's happening now?" Azriel put in. "Avy seems to have upset their Captain, and he's chasing the little green ragamuffin with a cutlass!"

"Ents have never liked goblins, of course," Amarie commented. "And the feeling is no doubt reciprocal."

"Oh dear, it's upsetting poor little Nora!" Julia cried out in horror. "Oh my, they are tying her up in tight thongs! My my, I'm glad I can't hear what she's shouting - those goblins are blanching!"

"Amarie!" Azriel cried. "We must try and stop them."

"She'll be fine," Amarie told them calmly. "Probably isn't happy about goblins of the worst (but most effective) kind being in Forumshire. A few days in the lock holes will sort her out and no real harm done. Now where has little Azy gone, I wonder?"

"Look!" Julia cried. "He's made a break for the rear gate, but those goblin archers are getting closer with every shot, the little bastard!"

"Come now,". Azriel distracted them. "Let's go to my pantsuit store and find some pantsuits for you."  

Julia and Azriel followed Amarie as she marched out of the sitting room.

"Now that it has come," Julia whispered to Azriel. "I'm not sure I'm all that comfortable about all this."

"Oh fiddle-fiddle'" Azriel shot back happily. "With your hair tied up and maybe a nice black cap like Amarie's on your pretty head to go with our pantsuits, you'll look great!"













"

This was clearly written by Moffat. Is Anon ill? The people demand to know!

This took a rather dark turn very suddenly.

Chapter Six

The Mysterious Darkly Clad Chap with a Hood


The hobbitlads had discussed plans for the reinstatement of Eldorion all afternoon and into the early evening, while still managing to find time to argue about the Needlehole United-Buckland FC game and the Offside rule;  speculating on the cup size of Porgie Bunk behind the counter; the moves of Vladimir Putin in Syria; and the weather in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia - which was incredibly changeable; eventually falling asleep one by one on floors and tabletops among buckie flasks and jugs, exhausted by their deliberations or drunk, or both; all except Eldo (of course) and a mysterious darkly clad chap with a hood who was almost fully concealed in deep shadow in a corner of the bar furthest from the door.

"I'm glad I stuck to cocacoolaid," says our Eldo. "Otherwise I may have found myself losing my inhibitions and punching Orwell - and Petty for that matter! - smack on the nose. I wonder if they're more irritating when they're sober or when they're drunk? Probably either way, just irritating in different ways. Oh well, taking a glass half full approach, I supose I should be relieved that we're not going to start a bloody coup attempt after all, not this disorganized and drunken bunch!"

"I would not be so hasty there, young lad," the mysterious darkly clad chap with a hood addressed him from the shadows.

Eldo almost jumped out of his skin.

"My goodness!" (he swore) "I didn't even know you were there, mysterious chap in the corner - and I'm so sorry for the vulgarity, but you did give me quite a start. I assure you I don't use the 'g' word very often, if not never."

The mysterious darkly clad chap came forth from the shadows revealing a hobbit (or was he?) clad all in black with a hood concealing his face. "I would like a moment of your time if you don't mind, Lord Eldorion," he said in a hissy-whispery voice, which might have been an attempt to disguise his real voice.

"You mean, of course, Former Lord Eldorion," Eldo replied, the 'former' rolling off his tongue very refreshingly. "Do I know you? You sound awfully familiar, but hissy-whispery with your voice possibly disguised deliberately that way."

"That is as may be, one needs to be careful in these dangerous times!"

"Dangerous? No, I think the hobbitlad's are all wee-wees and gas. I don't see them killing any hobbitlasses after what I've seen today. They had me worried for awhile though I must admit."

The mysterious darkly clad chap threw back his hood in a grand gesture to reveal a long black woolen stocking tied in a knot at the top and eye holes cut in it, pulled over a very long head.    

"You don't know me," the mysterious darkly clad chap said in an even more hissy voice. "But I can help you!"

"No, I don't think so. No, I don't want your help with all due respect. I don't want to sound rude, but I don't want to be Administrator again. I trust that's what you're getting at. And, by the way, I really don't see the point of whisking your hood off like that only to reveal a black woolen stocking with eye holes cut in it. Queer, really."

"What a disrspectable lad you are!" the mysterious darkly clad chap said in a voice that sounded remarkly like Odo Banks's voice, which quickly became hissy again. "This is a balaclava I'm wearing, for I want to keep my real identity hidden."

"Well, I don't mean to appear rude, mysterious darkly clad chap, but it does look like a long woolen stocking.

"Look here, you unrespectable young hobbit, I'm here on very serious business, so I would hope you'd show me some respect."

"'Disrespectable'? 'Unrespectable'? I apologize, Sir, but I'm getting really confused."

"Never mind that!" the mysterious darkly clad chap hissed even more hissingly, sounding Quite like an electric kettle, however anachronistic that sounds. "I wish to speak of Lady Amarie, who I will now refer to as the Dark Mistress!"

"Is she someone else's mistress? My goodness! She does move on quickly!" And Eldo blushed. "Sorry! My mouth is so vulgar today. I don't usually use the 'g' word so much. It's been such a long and emotional day. Please forgive me."

"Yes, yes - my goodness, and they call me a prude! Where was I. Oh yes. I call her a Dark Mistress in the sense of being a Dark Master only less male and more female!" the mysterious darkly clad chap cried in impatience, again sounding remarkably like Odo Banks. He gave a little embarrassed cough and began hissingly again: "Do you know she has already hired a troop of goblins to secure the perimeters of the Tower of Lore?"

"Has she?" Eldo gasped in shock. "How do you know?"

"Err.. um.. just let us say, I know a certain business-hobbit who entered a contract to supply staff to her... But never mind that, those kinds of arrangements are quite respectable in business terms. What I want you to focus on is 'the great risk' the Dark Mistress presents. She plans to run this place with an iron glove!"

"What? Do you mean an iron fist?"

"Well, there will be an iron fist in the glove, but she doesn't want her fist to get.. let's say - begrimed... That's what she'll be using her goblin army for!"

"You said a 'troop', didn't you?"

"Yes, yes, you aggravating lad. But I'm talking about the army that is even now marching up from Mordor-on-the-Coast. She's bent on making Forumshire a Dictatorship. I tell you, lad, she's a tyrantess! No doubt she'll break all the current rules and enact new oppressive ones. Thankfully the...err.. Hire Firm got prepayment for her goblin army before that can occur..."

"Oh I begin to see!" Eldo said as it all dawned on him. "You want me to oppose her, don't you? You want me to rise up and defend Forumshire. But no, I'm done with that. I'm finished. I tell you, I'm not your hobbit!" And Eldo had a dire look of utter pain on his face, and he seemed drawn and traumatized, and threw back his head, with his hands over his face in a fit of strangled anguish.

"Well, what an incredible bit of overacting, if ever I ever saw one!" said the mysterious darkly clad chap in a shocked Odo Banks-like voice. He coughed and appeared to gather himself and started hissingly again. "I know a hobbit who can help you raise an army of thick legged dwarfs who might just be your answer." And now his voice become stirring, if still hissy. "Lord Eldorion! Icon of Forumshire! Defender of Freedom (however disrespectable!) You need to find your courage and stand up to Amarie and her Forumshire Party. Lord Eldorion, I beseech you! Heed the call! Forumshire needs you! You must take a stand for the folk who have always relied on you!"

Eldo felt a tug at his heart. But, no, how could he... Was there no one else... The he caved in on himself.

"Well, mysterious darkly clad chap, I suppose I could help, so long as it's understood from the outset that we form a Council of Equals after the event, as I really don't want the job."

"Excellent!" the mysterious darkly clad chap hissed and rubbed his hands together lugubriously. "Excellent!"

Suddenly, Eldo became suspicious of him. "And how exactly, may I ask politely, do you plan to profit from your help, Mister mysterious darkly clad chap who has cunningly concealed his true identity?"

"Oh in the usual personnel hire contract way," the mysterious darkly clad chap said, sounding very pleased. "Now, as to borrowing three billion Forumshire shekels, as it has come to my notice you are a little short of funds, Amarie having moved quickly to seize Forumshire Corp finances... but fear not! I know a rather helpful hobbit banker in Needlehole who charges very reasonable interest rates..."

I must say this very mysterious mister sound very trustworthy.