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It took Charlie many long grueling weeks, packed with adventures of galactic proportions, but finally he made it to Mordor.

I'm here! he puffed, stooping to rest in front of the floral welcome sign that alerted him of his arrival. Who'd have thought I'd be able to get away from all those yellowjackets!

came a deep voice from behind him. Whassup with you, man?

Charlie whirled around, his leather habit hanging on him in tatters.

he screamed. You! From the picture!

What the hell? the guy replied, scratching his head. Do I know you, man?

I...I guess not... Charlie stuttered to his feet. I guess I thought you were someone else...

Well, then get your hands off the sign, alright? I gotta clean it, man!

Charlie replied, stumbling away from the sign and flopping to the ground in exhaustion. A hazy film was clouding his vision when he suddenly noticed the burly man's t-shirt. Hey! You like Sons of Numenor?

The man turned from the sign, light shining in his eyes. Like them? Like them, man? Dude, I love them! I mean, my whole style's based on their lead singer! He plucked at his battered S.O.N. t-shirt in delight.

Really? Steward of Gondor? Rock! Charlie exclaimed. Have you heard their newest CD?

Sign washing forgotten, the man settled down next to Charlie and thumped the emaciated teenager on the back. Heard it? I own twelve copies! And I'm going to their concert at the Hobbitnath this weekend -- it's gonna rock my fuckin' world, dude!

A concert? At the Hobbitnath? Charlie was fairly drooling. You think...you think maybe I could come along?

The man's eyes narrowed slightly. Dunno, man. I mean...you got any...well...drugs, or anything?

I've got snuff, Charlie offered.

Instantly, the man's face broke into a toothy grin. I'm Sven, he smiled, shaking Charlie's hand heartily.

Charlie replied.

Awesome, Charlie my man! We're gonna rock this party!

All thoughts of his mother forgotten, Charlie nodded to Sven in blissful agreement.

*

Pump up the volume, Charlie! Sven cried, sneezing snuff residue into a large paisley handkerchief and swerving wildly to avoid a passing cart. This has got to be my favorite S.O.N. song of all time!

Charlie had never felt so happy and free. The wind was blowing through his strings of filthy hair, he had a free ride to the S.O.N. concert of his dreams, and Sven the druggie loved singing along with Steward of Gondor almost as much as Charlie did.

The night was cold and dark, but our tent was full of heat! sang Sven to the heavy drumbeats.

Since oh, oh hark -- we'd just made love so sweet! Charlie joined in.

I was pickin' at some bark when you kicked me in the teeth. I said through my blood...what the fork? What the beef?

What the beeeeeef, man? Hey, what the beef?

This song rocks! Charlie screamed to Sven over the thrilling guitar riffs.

I know, right? Sven replied. I mean, man, I can like so relate!

You mean you've been kicked in the teeth after making love so sweet in a hot tent as well?

Well, no, Sven said after a moment's pause. But sometimes when I wake up in the morning, it sure feels like it.

Charlie chuckled. Word to that, he cried with soul, reaching for another pinch of snuff.

He had finally found a friend, a friend who had all his toes and wasn't half Charlie's size.

Or so he thought.

And rightly so.

*

Steward of Gondor carefully adjusted the plastic mask of Elvis he would be wearing for the evening's performance. Although the mask caused him to sweat profusely and muffled his voice, Steward of Gondor was very fond of it. He was proud to say that no fan of the Sons of Numenor (and no member of the Sons of Numenor, come to think of it) had ever seen his face, and he planned to keep it that way.

Speaking of seeing his face, Steward of Gondor wasn't sure he'd viewed it himself in at least a week. Ah well. It was better that way, he decided, stepping happily from his trailer.

*

Charlie sprang from the truck and gazed around excitedly at the growing crowd of S.O.N. fans that had flocked to the shores of the Brandywine. A stage, bridging the river, had been built between the two majestic stone figures of the Hobbitnath, and from the looks of the workmen lugging boxes of dynamite, there would be large explosions later that evening.

I am so fuckin' psyched, man! Sven was twisting the edge of his ratty t-shirt with violent joy.

You bet, Charlie replied, but his face had fallen. His ratty tunic and stinking hair were completely inappropriate to wear at the concert of a lifetime. You think I could just hop in the river while you set up the truck somewhere?

Sure, Charlie my man, Sven grunted vaguely, drool running down his chin.

Charlie patted Sven on the back and then headed off to find a more private section of river and a S.O.N. t-shirt vendor.

*

Frodo sobbed desolately into the little pillow shaped like a blackberry that Sam had made him for his birthday. His toeless feet trembled with aching loss, and he was sniffling so loudly that he didn't even hear the door open.

Feeling any better? Merry asked cautiously.

Frodo whined into the pillow.

He's only been gone for a few weeks, Pippin offered hopefully. For all we know, he could be coming home right now. Or maybe he sent a postcard and it got lost in the mail.

Or maybe he got eaten by something, Sam added, fat and excited.

Frodo began to blubber even louder.

Master Frodo, I didn' mean that! Sam cried, flinging himself down beside Frodo and cradling the sobbing hobbit's head against his chest. But you must stop crying! You haven' come out in nigh on two weeks now, and the other hobbits are feelin' aimless without you!

So let them feel aimless! Frodo spat, hiding his face in his hands. My Charlie. My sweet little Charlie...how could he leave us? How could my lad leave us? What will become of him?

Maybe he just wanted to explore, Merry explained patiently. He's a lot taller than us, after all. And he's got toes. You remember the way toes feel, Frodo. You remember the way they make you ache to explore!

The room went silent as all the hobbits' eyes misted over. Toes. They had once had toes. They had once wanted to roam free through the lands of the Shire, their toes digging into the soft grass.

It's no use, Frodo yelled, shattering the soft dreams of those little wiggling appendages in the greenery. Gandalf ate our toes, and I took that boy in! And I'll be damned if I let him wander the country whenever he pleases!

*

Wiping streaks of wet golden hair from his eyes, Charlie sauntered back towards camp. The sky was becoming heavy with the coming dusk, and lights were flashing around the stage now. At the edge of the crowd, Charlie could make out Sven. He seemed to be waving a large red flag that read Play Numenorean Dream'!

Charlie hollered over the loud roars from the crowd, grabbing the massive drug addict by the sleeve. It's starting, isn't it?

Oh yeah, Charlie! It's starting alright! Sven seized Charlie roughly by the collar of his brand new S.O.N. shirt and began to plough through the crowd towards the front of the stage.

As they approached the stage, fire erupted from the edges and Steward of Gondor flung himself out into the open, his plastic Elvis mask glinting orange in the flames. Charlie felt his heart beating in his ears. he shrieked. Steward, over here!

The masked face swiveled slowly towards Charlie, and the edges of the mouth crinkled in a plastic-y grin, large white teeth showing through the cheap cut-out mouth hole. He waved his large leather-gloved hand at the swooning youth. Heya everyone, he called out to the enormous crowd. Let's start the evening with an old Sons of Numenor favorite -- Numenorean Dream'!

The crowd swelled in once fantastic, beast-like roar. Sven looked like he was having heart failure.

The lyrics of Numenorean Dream have been included for your edification below.

The first time I saw
your beautiful face,
you were slaying an orc
with the most absolute grace.
I asked for your number,
you spat in my face.
I said, Hey man, what's up?
and you called me a mental case.

I went back to my room
and I started to cry.
Things seemed so dismal,
I didn't know why.
I dreamed of baking with you
a delicious pizza-pie.
But alas, alas darling,
my love I had to deny.

Chorus
Life really sucks, it seeeeeems!
Without you, my Numenorean dreeeeeeam!

I went back to the field.
You were frolicking in the mud.
I couldn't help feeling
my heart's every thud.
I put my hand on your shoulder.
You said What the hell, bud?
I murmured, I love you.
And then I thought,

Because you had just
punched me in the nose.
I lost all sensation
from my head to my toes.
I awoke to find myself
in a most uncomfortable pose,
lying in the muck --
not the thing I would have chose!

Chorus
Life really sucks, it seeeeeems!
Without you, my Numenorean dreeeeeeam!

Bleeding and sobbing,
I retreated once more
to hide in my chamber
and curse you as a whore.
But as I lay down
you burst through my door
and said, Let's not pretend --
you know what I'm here for!

Life doesn't sucks, it seeeeeems!
Now I've got you, my Numenorean dreeeeeeam!

Dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam...ooo ooo...my Numenorean dreeeeeeeeeeeeeam!

Oh yeah!

As you can imagine, the crowd went wild.

*

Frodo rocked back and forth, clutching his blackberry pillow to his chest. He had failed. Failed as a leader of hobbits. Failed as a father. Life was so bleak. Life was pointless.

As he rushed to his bureau, searching for a letter opener to stab himself with and take the pain away, Frodo's eyes fell on the super-elf-magical telephone. It gleamed in the light, a soft pearl pink. Without thinking, Frodo snatched it up and dialed the first number that came to mind.

Yo! Frodo!

Frodo clutched at the receiver. How did you know it was me, Elrond?

Elf magical powers, Elrond replied with a giggle. And I've got caller ID.

That's nice, Frodo mumbled, toying with the letter opener in a half-hearted daze.

There was a long silence on the other end. In the background, Frodo could make out the words of a Sons of Numenor song. Really, was everyone listening to that blasphemous trash these days?

Finally, Elrond spoke. Frodo, what's up with you?

Charlie's run away. Frodo hadn't meant to say anything about that to Elrond, but suddenly the words came pouring out. I don't know where he is, and, oh, Elrond! I have to find my son!

Elrond replied thoughtfully. I'll see what I can do.

*

This is the fuckin' best night of my life, Charlie my man! Sven yelled in between cheers.

Charlie wiped the sweat out of his eyes and grinned up at Sven. I so owe you, Sven! he screamed back.

Fireworks were exploding from the Hobbitnath now as the Sons made their final bows. Sven and Charlie, pressed up against the front of the stage, were cheering the very loudest of all. But, very suddenly, one of their voices was cut terribly short.

Oh, NO! Charlie screamed as Sven's unconscious body dropped to the mossy ground. Sven's been SHOT!

Don't be a moron! came a gruff voice amongst all the cheering, close to Charlie's ear. He's just been hit by someone's bra.

Charlie whirled around to face the jerk who had just insulted his honor. But when he saw who the jerk was, the self-righteous sneer left his tanned face and was replaced with a look of awe.

Mother of Valar! Charlie said in a low whisper. It's...it's you!

Steward of Gondor paused in the task of hoisting Sven's limp body over his manly shoulder a moment to smile winningly through his mask.

he said happily. That's me! Then his smile faded. Or, at least I should've been. I would've been, if it hadn't been for --

Watch it! yelped Charlie. The Steward had let Sven's crumpled form fall, and it was now rolling down the grassy hill to his left. Sven and the Steward, who had already begun to draw attention from the crowd of screaming hobbit teenagers, went tearing after it.

Charlie cried, reaching his senseless friend first and falling beside him in despair. What're we going to do?

Steward gave a furtive glance over his shoulder; a horde of hobbits were preparing to charge down the slope, autographable objects in hand.

Let's get your friend to my trailer, he suggested, grasping Sven firmly by the ankles. Have you got his wrists, there?

Charlie nodded, and taking hold of the other end of Sven with as much strength as he could muster, the two struggled off, Sven's massive body swinging between them.

*

Inspector Elrond would like to see you now, Master Frodo. The young hobbit, looking like he might pee himself, shifted eagerly in Frodo's doorway and watched Mr. Baggins with excitement.

Send him in, Frodo muttered into his blackberry pillow.

Instantly, Elrond bounded into the room. Frodo! We're going to find that boy! Buck up!

Frodo was staring at Elrond's neon-orange trenchcoat with a mixture of horror and revulsion. I don't suppose you'll be very sneaky wearing that.

Reverse psychology, Elrond shrugged. Say, got any barbecue sauce?

*

It was difficult, but Charlie and the Steward managed to lug Sven's huge body to the trailer. Darkness had fallen, but a rectangle of white light shone from the door and across the plastic mask of Steward of Gondor. Charlie looked up at him from behind strings of sweaty golden hair, and for a moment, their eyes met.

Suddenly, the Steward stumbled over the steps of his trailer.

shrieked Charlie, dropping Sven.

The star dove forward in an attempt to save Sven's head from colliding with the trailer steps, but as his arm sprang out, it brushed his plastic mask and ripped it clean from the elastic string that bound it to his shaggy head.

Sven hit the ground with a soft thud.

There was a terribly long pause.

You...you're the man from the picture... Charlie finally whispered, his mouth going completely dry.

Steward blinked unhappily, squinting under the harsh light from his trailer.

In...in my uncle's photograph. You...why, you're Boromir!

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Thus ends the second chapter of our delightful sequel. We would like to thank MoroTheWolfGod for the review and point out that of course they ate him. Why let a perfectly good elf go to waste?