"Bad news lads." Gandalf's broad Yorkshire tones rang round the underground stone chamber, in the depths of Moria. It was a small, grubby, unprepossessing chamber, lit by a couple of flickering fluorescent tubes attached to the ceiling, painted in that drab shade of olive green favoured by what remained of the public sector and soon to be bankrupt private enterprise. In one corner was a noticeboard, with yellowing, curling sheets of parchment. Earlier, Gimli had painstakingly translated them from the Olde Tykish. There had been a menu for the staff canteen, a Trade Union notice, and a list of health and safety rules.
"Much good them rules done 'em," Gimli had said, bitterly. "Didn't say owt about t' bloody goblins, did it?"
But that was a few minutes ago, and here and now, Gandalf had their full attention.
"I won't be coming all the way with you. You see, I've just had me diagnosis. I'm going to be dragged to me death in't next scene, by a Balrog."
"No," whispered Sam, wiping a tear from his eye.
"Ist tha sure?" asked Legolas, his musical voice redolent of the mysterious green woods just south of Barnsley.
"Aye, lad, sure as anything. But… lads, you can do one last thing. Sing the Lay of Leithian, in tight harmony."
Strider got to his feet. "Come on lads… one last time for Gandalf." Then he paused, and said, "When we're out of here, I just want you to know we'll go through us whole repertoire – Leithian, Music of the Ainur, even t' Songs of Tom bloody Bombadil. You might be gone, but the Fellowship'll be the best it's ever been."
Gandalf looked touched beyond measure, but also at the same time sad beyond the comprehension of mortals. "Ah, Strider, lad, there's more news. Lord Elrond's cashed in 'is holding in our little venture and sailed west. Sold 'is shares to the Witch King of Angmar. Come tomorrow, t' Fellowship's going to be privatised. There'll be redundancies… They're going to lay off the hobbits. And re-employ Legolas and Gimli as casual labour on zero hours contracts."
A gasp ran round the chamber, echoing off the dingy green walls.
Boromir got to his feet. "But we'll still be here. We can still go on and sing. We can still head for Gondor."
"Gondor," snorted Gandalf. "Your father's got too pally with Sauron via the Palantir. Gondor's being abolished. Come midnight tonight, Gondor's going to become part of Surrey."
Aragorn stepped forward. "Well, we've 'ad us good times together, an' I reckon as we've got about ten minutes then, to give t'best rendition of On Ilkley Moor bah't helm anyone's ever heard. And Lay of Leithian n' all."
With that, the fellowship all began to sing, short vowels blending perfectly into one magnificent sound reminiscent of a Yorkshire Tea advert. Gandalf conducted with fluid, graceful movements of his staff. But suddenly, his movements ceased as he became aware of a figure flitting from the shadows into the light of the fluorescent tubes.
The figure pushed back the hood of her cloak to reveal a stunningly beautiful elleth. One by one the fellowship stopped playing. Gandalf looked at her, his mouth gaping slightly, then spoke.
"No offence, love, but can you shove off?"
Undaunted, the beautiful elf pushed her golden hair back from her face and said "'Ear me out. Me dad were at the counsel of Elrond, just like you. I'm Victoria Eckerslike, daughter of Figwit Eckerslike."
There was a gasp from Legolas. "Not Figwit Eckerslike what was descended from Feanor's butler, the famous Willie Eckerslike?"
The elleth gave a dazzling smile, which Legolas returned with interest. "The very same," she said, giving a half-bow. "I can help all of you, particularly you, Mister Gandalf."
"How?"
"Well, for starters, I'm a tenth walker. That means I'm brilliant at fighting and have magical weapons at my disposal. I've got a special Balrog slaying bow. You're not going to die, Mr. Gandalf."
"Aye, that's as may be," said Strider. "But it doesn't change the fact that the nine – sorry 'ten'" (he sketched ironic air quotes with his fingers) "are going to lose the hobbits, and Legolas and Gimli are going to be on zero hours contracts. Not much of a fellowship with that level of lay-offs. And there's n'owt we can do about it because the new laws Denethor campaigned for say you have to have 100% union membership before you can strike, and he..." Strider gestured angrily at Boromir, "Won't join t'union."
"Scab," muttered Merry and Pippin.
"Just because I'm not a pinko lefty like my milksop of a little brother..." Boromir started to respond angrily, but he was interrupted by the beautiful elleth's dulcet Bolton tones.
"I've bought out Angmar's shares. So you're not going to be privatised."
There was a certain amount of nodding of approval.
"Well, lass, I can see as how as tha means well," said Gandalf. "But it dun't change t' fact that as of midnight, Gondor and the rest of the free world is going to be assimilated into Surrey."
"Ah, but I can – I do aerobics with Mrs. Sauron, see, and I can get her to persuade him to change his mind," said Victoria.
"And why art tha doin' all this," said Boromir, suspiciously.
"Because all me life I've wanted nothing more than to follow in me father's footsteps, doing brave deeds, and getting a chance to join in with close-harmony renditions of the Lay of Leithian. May I?" And she reached out her graceful, long-fingered hands and gently took hold of Boromir's horn, raising it to rosy, pouting lips.
"I'm a bit out of practise, like, so it may be a bit wobbly." And she set it to her lips and began to play the most beautiful, haunting rendition of Twinkle, twinkle, Little Silmaril any of them had ever heard. By the end, there wasn't a dry eye in the room.
"Bit wobbly, she says..." muttered Gandalf, a lump in his throat.
"Well? Can I join?" she asked, a slight quaver of trepidation in her voice.
"Well?" queried Gandalf, looking around the rest of the fellowship.
"She can play," said Boromir.
"She can kill the Balrog," said Legolas.
"She'll stop the lay-offs," said Gimli.
"She'll keep us Yorkshire," said the hobbits.
Gandalf scratched his head. "We've never had a woman in the fellowship before. What do you reckon, lads?"
The response was instantaneous. "No," they all chorused.
Gandalf turned to the elleth. "Sorry, love. No offence."
"None taken. It was worth a try." Phlegmatically, she turned, pulled her hood back up, and headed back out into the goblin infested corridors.
"Right, lads, from the top," said Gandalf, taking up his staff once more.