A/N: To avoid any possible confusion, when I mention an elf by name, if I'm talking about one of Tolkien's characters I'll make it clear (unless it's someone like Elrond or Galadriel). The 'football' in here is I real /I football, which Americans insist on referring to as 'soccer'.

"HA!" I crowed, estatic I'd just landed a dart closer to the bull's eye than Edrahil, who was looking rather put out over the whole thing. "I beat you!"

"An accident," he said dismissively.

"I still beat you."

"Only once."

"As lousy as my aim is, doing better than an elf ever is grounds for celebration and gloating."

"A fluke does not qualify as 'doing better'."

I shrugged and continued to smile because I knew it would annoy him. You took your triumph wherever you could get it, no matter how small the reason. Yes, it had been a total fluke but seeing him get flustered and upset by it brought a certain satisfaction. The other elves who had seen him bested by a mortal wouldn't soon let him live it down.

Over in the corner, I saw a Silvan elf talking intently to Cap'n Jack, my lovebird. I didn't know if the elf was teaching it more highly useful Sindarin and Westron phrases or trying to talk some sense into the bird about why it wasn't polite to chew on ears. Jack, bless his cute little feathered heart, now knew how to say "Where's the rum?' in five different languages. Less success had been gained in curbing Jack's chewing habits. I suspected Jack continued to chew on ears because he got a sick sense of pleasure when his victims yelped. I'd considered starting up an ear piercing business but decided against it on the grounds that I didn't feel like having to justify to the health department why a little bird spit wouldn't hurt anyone and that a wipe with an infusion of athelas before and after Jack did his thing would take care of any germs which might be present.

It was football night at the Gaffer's Rest, which meant the Ithilian Rangers and the Dunedain were gathered around the tele. It would have been wonderful if they'd all been cheering for the same team but for reasons known only to them and probably had something to do with someone insinuating someone else liked to bathe a little too often (winkwinknudgenudge) the two groups always took opposing sides. I normally stayed away on football night but grinding boredom had driven me to brave the testosterone-flooded atmosphere.

"CUT HIM DOWN!" Mablung shouted at the tele, sending a bowl of popcorn flying as he leaped up. "TAKE THE BASTARD DOWN, YOU STUPID WANKER!"

"It's football, not the battle for Osgiliath," I remarked, earning hard looks from most of Faramir's men. "What? It is. It's just a game." The Dunedain were now giving me dirty looks also. I smiled brightly at all the men, glad to see them all agreeing on something for once, even if it was because they thought I was a fool.

"Come on, Tim!" Halbarad shouted, followed a moment later by a loud unison moan by the Dunedain and various epithits about Tim's parentage and sexual orientation.

Denethor came through the back wall. "Is my son here?"

"Which one? Oh, Boromir. No. I don't know where he is." Stupid of me to even ask. It was a pity he was such an ass when it came to playing favorites with his

sons. He was decent enough otherwise.

A look of irritation played across his face. "If you see him, tell him I'll be at the Citadel." Without waiting for me to say anything, he turned and returned to Middle Earth. I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at the portal. Just because I hosted the Gaffer's Rest didn't mean I was some serving wench to be ordered around.

A/N, Pt. 2: For everything else I wanted to say and makes more sense after you've read the chapter.

Yes, Cap'n Jack is named after He of Too Much Eyeliner, though he hasn't learned how to ask for rum just yet (I'm working on that. ;D) and he loves phone book covers and the chain my cross is on more than ears.

Yes, I did rip that off from The Now Show. Too perfect not to use.