Disclaimer: Gee, I wish I could write as well as JRRT. But I can't, and he wrote LotR, so I don't own anything to do with it…
The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings
The Fellowship of the Round Yellow Shiny Thing
Chapter 6: Hey Arthur!
Cheddar's heavy gate was opened cautiously: it was, after all, late at night and very dark, the time when ghosties and ghoulies and things that went bump were abroad.
This was fine with Fenny, who, when danger threatened, much preferred to be in a different country.
She led her intrepid band through the shady streets of Cheddar, which seemed poky and narrow after the green, wide open spaces of Shiredon. The four half-pints hurried along as quietly as they could, looking over their shoulders, and jumping at small noises. Behind them, there was a scrambling, a thud and a muffled cry of "ouch". As they rounded the corner, the gatekeeper could just be heard to say: "I'm sure I don't know why you're trying to climb the gates to get in, I haven't locked them yet, and if you're trying to sneak in unnoticed may I draw your attention to this spot in the wall where the bricks are coming loose…"
This time, Fenny was doing the mapwork, and at the twentieth dead end she had to admit that they were, if not lost, perhaps slightly directionally disadvantaged.
A Big Smelly Person with a face like he was sucking lemons leant on a redbrick wall, surveying the street as if he disapproved of creation in general. Megan pointed to him. "Do you think he could tell us where we are?"
Poppy took a step behind her friend as she saw the man's scowling face. "He doesn't look very friendly."
Megan squeezed her sister's hand, then stepped up to the man. She barely reached his waist. "Um. Er. Hello? Excuse me?"
He looked left, then right, then finally down in exaggerated surprise. "What?"
"Er, do you know the way to…" She nudged Fenny, who had come up behind her with the other two for moral support. "Where is it we're meeting Gareth?"
"The Frolicking Filly," supplied Poppy promptly. Sam stared at her.
"Wait, he didn't actually tell us," she objected. "He just said to meet him in Cheddar."
Poppy shook her head. "He did, but the author forgot to write it down, and so we now remember it through what it known in fanfic circles as a plot hole," she informed them. It sounded like a quote.
"That sounds like a quote," said Megan suspiciously.
"No," Poppy insisted. "The author has most certainly not just realized that she has forgotten to endow me with any discernable personality whatsoever and, panicking, decided to prevent me from fading into the background of the story by speaking through me in thinly-veiled Authors' Notes."
The other three half-pints blinked, repeating the convoluted sentence in their heads. It still didn't make much sense.
The man, evidently deciding that the four were utterly mad, was staring at them. "If you can come back to reality for a few seconds," he interrupted gruffly, "the Filly is just over there." He pointed to the end of the street, where several men were standing on ladders, repainting a sign.
"'The Exhausted Equine'?" Fenny read, raising an eyebrow.
"Well," explained the man, "It's been Frolicking for so long it's probably a bit knackered…"
The half-pints exchanged incredulous glances, then Fenny smiled gratefully at the man. "Thanks," she told him. "You've been a great help, mister… er…"
"Leucospermummy. Phil Leucospermummy."
"Mr. Leuco… something. Thanks!"
The four friends were halfway down the street when Phil Leucospermummy seemed to realise something. "No! Wait—come back—you're the protagonists! I'm not meant to help the protagonists!" When they didn't return, he kicked irritably at the ground. "Damn it. No wonder I never become a main villain."
He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the dark figure that crept silently up the street, silhouetted against the moon, stubbed its toe, swore, and disappeared into the Filly… er, Equine just after Fenny and co.
The inside of the Equine was well-lit but smoky, and very loud, in the grand tradition of pubs everywhere. Though some of the clientele were Short Furry People, most were Smelly People, and the three half-pints had to duck and weave and, in extreme cases, take cover under tables to avoid being squashed.
Sam, who could really project her voice when she wanted to, called up the innkeeper's attention, and he leaned over the counter to look at them. "Good evening," he greeted them jovially, because innkeepers are always jovial. He was also fat, ruddy-faced and cheery for the same reason. "What can I help you with?"
"We're looking for someone," Sam told him, looking over her shoulder at Fenny. "A Sme – a big person, name of Gareth; long hair, beard and so on. Really long grey robe and cloak, pointy hat, and a staff with a knob on the end."
"Wizard, is he?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
The innkeeper tapped the side of his red nose with one sausage-like finger. "Haven't seen him around, sorry," he said apologetically. "You might try asking at the tourist information office, though. Hurry, before it closes."
They asked at the tourist information office, with the same results. As they dragged their feet dejectedly back to the Equine, thinking that at least they could wait for Gareth to turn up somewhere warm, a dark-clad figure leapt out of the shadows (of which there were a large amount, it being night-time) and seized them, two under each arm.
"Hey! Help! Help!" they cried, but the figure shushed them. "I'm a friend. I was going to wait for you to get back to the Equine, but time is short, the author is lazy, and – no offence to Tolkien, Eru rest his soul – that dancing-on-tables thing is rather embarrassing."
"How do we know we can trust you?" Sam demanded. Fenny had gone still and vacant again like the last time they were attacked, whilst under the man's other arm, Megan was comforting a terrified Poppy.
The man seemed to consider this, then placed them down on the pavement in front of him and threw back his bomber jacket, flourishing a broken samurai sword.
"For I am Arthur, son of Arnold, and if by life or death I can misquote the movie, I will."