A/N The mildly awaited continuation of Some Towers. Thanks to all my reviewers, as always, you beautiful beautiful darlings!

Gandalf the Straight, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli the short-arse arrived at their destination, Edoras, three weeks after they departed; that was the standard duration of a Middle-Earth Emergency Pub-crawl. They dismounted their donkeys and Shadowfart, making their way to the weapons depository.

"You will leave your articles of war here." The receptionist told them. Legolas shrugged and handed over his bow, his knife and some lethal curling tongues. Gimli laid down his axe, but their host was suspicious and bade the dwarf walk through a metal detector. As the device beeped wildly, Gimli reluctantly removed a knife from his boot, a broadsword hidden beneath his armour, a stiletto from his underpants and finally a submachine gun concealed in his beard. Aragorn handed over his sword.

"Don't fret, Roger." He told it soothingly. "You'll be back with me, hacking Sauron's armies to pieces, soon enough."

Gandalf was made to put down his staff, and immediately fell over.

"Would you part an old man from his support?" Demanded Aragorn.

"We don't want his corset." The receptionist replied curtly, storing Gandalf's staff in a timelocked safe with the other items. "We're all suspicious bastards here."

"Let us get the fuck on with it." Snapped Gandalf, affronted.

"Just a moment," the receptionist held up a hand, "do you have anything to declare?"

"Nothing except my genius." Growled Gandalf, and stalked off.

"Um…yes," said Aragorn. "I'm the King of Gondor. Nearly."

"I'm an elf!" Simpered Legolas prettily.

Everyone looked at Gimli expectantly.

"I'm slightly cross-eyed." The dwarf announced eventually, after some moments of thought.

"Very well. You may go in."

What was left of the Fellowship - remember them? - made their way to the Golden Halls where Theoden-King, or even King Theoden, was sitting on a throne looking very crumbly.

"Who's this old fart?" Demanded Gimli.

"This is Theoden, the bloke we've come to see."

"Ah. Sorry."

Aragorn, leaning forward, spoke very loudly and directly into Theoden's ear trumpet.

"HELLO YOUR MAJESTY! WE'VE COME TO SPEAK WITH YOU!"

"Eh?" Quavered the elderly royal.

"WE'VE COME TO SPEAK TO YOU!"

"We don't want any." Replied Theoden. "We ordered some last week."

"WE ARE NOT DOOR-TO-DOOR SALESMEN!" Bawled Aragorn. "WE COME TO SEEK YOUR AID AGAINST THE ENEMY!"

"Are you Jehovah's Witnesses?" Asked the old king querulously. Aragorn sighed and gave up. Over to Gandalf.

"Wormtongue." Gandalf turned to an ugly little git with a horribly deformed tongue sitting at the King's feet. "This is the King's translator." Gandalf explained to the others. "Tell him," he instructed Wormtongue, "that we offer our regards and come to seek his aid."

Wormtongue turned to address Theoden and communicated Gandalf's words by a series of gestures. But Legolas, who was watching closely, objected,

"He didn't say what you told him to."

"What did he say then, Master Elf?" Legolas peered more closely,

"He said:

'The grey git says that you are a deaf old fool with less charisma than a hedgehog. We should have him killed!"

that isn't very nice, is it?"

"No, Legolas, it is not. Tell him properly!" Gandalf roared, rounding on Wormtongue. "Say this: your servant is an awkward little toerag who pours poison into your ears constantly, whereas your guests are noble and honourable and merely wish you to sacrifice your life and many of your people to defeat Sauron, Q.E.D."

"And make sure you say it properly, git," quoth Aragorn, "or I'll rip that weird tongue of yours right out of your head."

The servant quavered, but repeated Gandalf's words accurately enough.

"I have been blind!" Wailed Theoden. "Bugger off, Wormtongue. I will place my faith in this random collection of bedraggled travellers instead. Forgive my suspicions, friends. Welcome to my court."

"Thanks." Said Aragorn.

"Eh?"

"THANKS!"

"What?"

"I said THANKS! THANK YOU!"

"Spank me? Why would you want to do that?"

"Oh my God." Muttered the Ranger. It was going to be a long war…

--Meanwhile, in the Green Room--

"Hello, Mr. Potato, how are you today? 'Very well, thank you, my Lord, and how are you?' Well, I was killed by the Uruk-Hai at one point but apart from that I'm having quite a nice life, thanks, although I'll never be the King of Gondor because SOME BASTARD HOBO RANGER STOLE MY COUNTRY! But, well, that's all right, I'm sure he'll make a very good King, and after all my father is the Steward and my brother after him…so that's fine…EXCEPT I'LL NEVER BE STEWARD BECAUSE SOME BASTARD SHOT ME THREE TIMES WITH A BLOODY GREAT BOW AND THERE'S A BY-LAW FORBIDDING DEAD PEOPLE FROM HOLDING THE POST! But apart from that, really, I'm having a lovely day."

Two cameramen had been listening in on the conversation Boromir was having with his potato salad. One shook his head in a sympathetic sort of way.

"I think the loneliness is getting to him. Can't be easy, stuck here on his own with just the crew for company."

"I agree. He needs other actors to play with." Replied Camera 2.

"Maybe we should release him into the wild, find him a nice period drama to live in."

"Hmm."

Meanwhile Boromir was chatting away to his food again.

"I wonder where Gandy's got to. I wonder what my brother's doing. Apparently he gets to be cool and hard in this movie. I wish I could be cool and hard in this movie. I was very good in the last one, wasn't I, Mr. Potato? 'Yes, of course you were, my Lord, you were the best one in it and very sexy.' Thank you, Mr. Potato, you know more that the film critics after all. I suppose you watch a lot of television, don't you? Does that make you a Couch Potato? Ha ha ha! Sorry. Yes, I enjoyed the movie, although if they'd done it my way I could have BEEN IN ALL THREE BLOODY FILMS, GOT THREE TIMES THE PAYCHECK AND BECOME KING AT THE END! But I'm not bitter, not bitter at all. Am I, Dr. Douglas?"

The psychotherapist, tied to an enormous stake in the middle of the room, gagged, and full of bullet holes, replied,

"Mmmph mmpph mmphh!", squirming in his bonds, eyes rolling wildly above the gag.

"Exactly, I quite agree. I'm over all that bitterness-inferiority complex-Oedipus complex-desire for murderous revenge now, aren't I?"

"Mmmph mmmph!"

"And it's all thanks to you." Said Boromir happily.

"Mmph!"

"So maybe I should reward you by letting you go."

"Mmph?"

"But I'm not going to."

"Mmmphh mmph mmmph!"

"That was funny." Giggled Boromir. "I've decided, I like being insane. No more goody-two-shoes French-killing-mute-woman-shagging-saving-the-life- of-the-Duke-of-Wellington parts for me. I'm going to play psychos from now on. I'm good at that. I made a magnificent Bond villain, didn't I, Mr. Potato? And if I ever see Lady Chatterley again, I'll bite her head off."

At that moment Gandalf took it upon himself to return.

"Thought I'd update you," the wizard said, stepping through the vortex. "We've met Theoden and…oh dear, what's happened now?"

"Everything's fine." Said Boromir happily. Gandalf eyed the congealed potato salad suspiciously.

"Why don't we throw this away, eh? It looks a bit foul."

"NO!" Boromir roared, grabbing the plate. "It's MINE! I found it." He stroked the potato salad lovingly. "My precious…" he murmured.

"Ah…ha." Mused Gandalf, stroking his beard.

"Mmph mmph mphh!"

"Good grief! Dr. Douglas! Let me get you down from there." Gandalf untied the psychotherapist, who, with a scream, fled. Boromir burst into tears.

"My therapist escaped!"

"Don't worry," soothed Gandald, "we'll get you another therapist."

"And a potato salad?" Sniffled the great warrior.

"Yes, and a potato salad."

"And a six pack of Carlsberg?" Boromir purred.

"Er…yes, all right."

Boromir smirked. The wizard was distracted. Now was his chance! Shoving Gandalf aside, Boromir threw himself through the vortex with a cry of triumph.

King Theoden appeared rather surprised when the big man with the enormous horn (mended though it was with tape) fell screaming from the ceiling and landed on several courtiers, killing them instantly.

"Ha!" Cried the interloper, leaping to his feet. Lunging forward he grabbed Legolas and put a knife to his throat.

"Got your elf!" He told Aragorn, tauntingly. "What you gonna do about it, Ranger-boy?"

"Boromir!" Gasped Aragorn. "But you…you…went to the Green Room!"

"Well, I'm back, live with it, scruffbag. And if you want your girly elf back you're going to have to meet my demands."

At that moment Gandalf emerged from the vortex, landing on Theoden, who looked more baffled than ever.

"Wait, Boromir! Do nothing foolish!"

"Sod off, Gandy, this is my limelight. Well, scruffy, are you ready to deal?"

"I think it highly ironic for you to call *me* 'scruffy'," replied Aragorn snottily, "but since we need someone who can shoot a barn door at more than seven paces, I'm willing to listen."

Boromir drew back slightly, holding on to Legolas, who whimpered,

"He's hurting my *hair*, Aragorn! Give him whatever he wants!"

"My first demand is this," Boromir told the Ranger. "I want to be the King of Gondor."

"That's impossible. The Tolkien fans would not allow it."

Boromir looked unhappy, but had to accept the logic.

"Very well…my second demand is this: I want Frodo's ring!"

"That's impossible. The Elijah Wood fans would not allow it."

Again, it was impossible to argue.

"Well then," Boromir went on, and now his voice trembled, "what I want…all I really ever wanted…what I want is…"

"What is it, Boromir?" Aragorn asked, gently.

"An Oscar!" The warrior wailed. "dammit, I want an OSCAR! I got made into a pin-cushion by the Uruk-Hai. I tolerated the scruffy one kissing me. I carried hobbits all over the place. I said the cool line about the cave troll. I was the main plot device for the first movie. I was rude to Elrond, for God's sake! I SUFFERED for that movie! And all I got out of it was an Elvish tattoo! Well it's not enough, dammit! I WANT AN OSCAR! And your paycheck." He added in an aside to Aragorn.

The room was very quiet. Then Gandalf spoke softly.

"You poor, hapless, under-appreciated man. Though They-in-Power may not grant it, still you shall be given what your heart desires so much. The Americans won't give you an Oscar, Boromir. Thus…you can have one of mine."

There was silence for a moment, and then…the room erupted with applause. Boromir released Legolas and threw himself into Gandalf's arms.

"I love you, Gandy." Gandalf patted his shoulder awkwardly.

"I'm sorry I hurt your hair, Legolas." The warrior sniffled, drawing back.

"Don't worry about it," the elf replied. "It's just a wig, anyway."

Boromir smiled at him.

"Please," said Theoden-King into the tumult, "what is going on?"

"Shut it, granddad." Gimli growled.

And equally softly, lost in a sea of cheering voices, another voice spake,

"But he's bloody *not* getting my paycheck…"