Extremely sorry I haven't updated for AGES – I've had exams, but they're finished now. I tried to post this earlier, but was being annoying and wouldn't let me for some reason… Anyone who's just joining us, enjoy, we've still got quite a way to go, and please review! It galvanises the plot bunnies into action…
Chapter 19
Figwit waltzed happily through the corridors of the Death Star. Normally this would be metaphor for walking along with utmost confidence, near giddiness, but Figwit was actually waltzing – actually dancing down the corridor in three time. Elves are quite peculiar, especially when laden down with many big guns.
He reached a lift emblazoned with the words 'EMPEROR'S SPECIAL LIFT', and pressed the Call button, whistling happily to himself. He smiled even at the people who were avoiding his eye. He was in a good mood.
The lift doors opened and he stepped in. As it shot upwards, he hummed quietly and checked the many guns adorning his torso. He wondered whether he'd overdone it slightly, and taken more guns than he could actually use and would just add to his weight and air resistance. But, thinking about it, he couldn't think of any to leave behind. They were all so nice. He shrugged. He'd deal with it.
He felt the lift slowing down, quickly finished humming and chose two guns to start with. How was he going to handle this? Quietly confident? Scarily aggressive? Coldly efficient? Wisecracking all the way?
Nah.
The lift stopped. He stepped out.
The Emperor didn't see him – he was too busy talking on a radio. "When you have reached the Hogwarts Gate, just wait. Our contact has promised us that it will be open."
"We've reached the gates already, my Lord."
"Then why don't you proceed?"
"We're just waiting to, my Lord. There's a bit of a queue."
Figwit heard the Emperor blink. Oh yes, elvish hearing is just that good. "What do you mean, a queue?"
"I mean, it looks like we're not the only army intending to attack Hogwarts tonight. Yoda's here, for one, with some Jedi."
"Hmph," snorted the Emperor, "He never could come up with original ideas."
"And the rumour is, several other Fanverses are coming too-"
Suddenly, another Holophone rang, and the Emperor hurriedly flicked to that one. Figwit was vaguely perplexed to see someone who looked a lot like Aragorn appear.
"What is it?" snapped the Emperor.
"I think our cover may be blown," said 'Aragorn', "I think Elrond's guessed I'm not really Aragorn."
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, partly because of the way he looks at us sometimes… but mainly because he just strode in and said, 'You're not Aragorn, are you?'"
"What? How could he have seen through your illustrious disguise?"
"I have no idea! I had a nametag and everything!"
Figwit heard the Emperor exhale forcefully and slowly. "How did you handle it?"
"I said I needed the bathroom."
"And then what?"
"… Called you from the bathroom."
"Ah." The Emperor paused. "Any plans on what to do next?"
"Er. Add another nametag? With the name in capital letters," he added eagerly, "And underlined."
Before the Emperor could try to persuade 'Aragorn' that this was not the best defence, yet another Holophone rang. Figwit sighed in irritation. As much as he wanted to annoy the Emperor, he was a polite elf, and wouldn't dream of doing anything until he'd finished his phone calls.
"What now?" snapped the Emperor at the stormtrooper who appeared on the latest Holophone.
"My Lord, there's a ship approaching fast – Firefly class."
"What?" said the Emperor sharply, "Where did it come from?"
"From one of the plot holes – probably the Luke-seemed-to-be-on-Dagobah-for-ages-but-Han-and-Leia-hardly-spent-any-time-flying-around-and-on-Bespin one."
The Emperor groaned. "We've got to patch that up at some point. Get those PR stormtroopers to think of an excuse. Meanwhile, prepare defences, activate the tractor beam-"
"That's the problem, my Lord. The defences have been deactivated. There's some sort of radio signal blocking them."
"What? What are the odds of someone working out the exact frequency needed to do that?"
"Well, it's not impossible-"
"Don't tell me," sighed the Emperor, "Just very, very improbable."
Figwit had had enough. His politeness had been overridden sufficiently by his determination that if the Emperor was going to have a nervous breakdown, as seemed inevitable, he wanted to be the one to push him over the edge. He considered announcing his presence by arming a blaster loudly - but then realized that was a cliché, and elves were far above resorting to clichés.
He then considered just going over and introducing himself. But even that had almost become a cliché. He frowned. What wasn't a cliché any more?
It dawned on him the Emperor was probably under a lot of stress right now. Sympathy was a trait encouraged in elves, so he fished out some Chocolate Buttons he'd removed from the mini-bar.
He wandered over just as the Emperor was saying tiredly, "All right – just – try to stop them once they board-"
"Chocolate button?" asked Figwit, proffering the bag.
The Emperor took some without really noticing, and continued, "-most likely they're from another Fanverse so do some research, find out who they could be-"
"I said you could have one, not three," said Figwit in wounded tones.
The Emperor stopped. He very slowly looked down at the few Buttons still in his hand, as though suddenly realizing they were there. He then slowly rotated in his chair to see Figwit.
"If you'd taken two, I would understand," continued Figwit, "One is just pathetic on its own, and normally they are stuck together, so even though I said you could have one, I would understand you taking two. But three? That's just greedy."
The Emperor continued to stare at the elf standing in front of him, bedecked in scary blasters.
"Hang a tick," said Figwit suddenly, "I never specified one. I apologize for impugning your honour. Though I specifically said 'chocolate button', that is, in the singular, so you could have deduced it on your own. But since the quantity could have been open for interpretation due to my failure to specify a number, perhaps I was hasty in accusing you of presumptuous gluttony."
The Emperor stared a little while longer. Then he blinked. Then he stared some more.
Confident that any possible clichés had successfully been averted, Figwit beamed at the Emperor, and said, "Hi. I'm Figwit. I was previously your prisoner."
To his credit, the Emperor recovered the power of speech within seventeen seconds. "And now?"
"Well…" Figwit looked down at all the blasters adorning his torso, and the several strapped to his limbs, and then at the Chocolate Buttons. "I was wondering whether we could discuss re-evaluating my status."
The Emperor had never been to the seaside; but at that moment he could appreciate, more clearly than anyone in the universe, the full meaning of the turning of the tide.
-
Dumbledore was extremely worried.
He had plenty of reasons to be, and many of those reasons were visible through his window. Through the gates were pouring ranks of Jedi and Stormtroopers, and deep in the forest were the tell-tale rustlings of leaves of others approaching. In the distance, an X-Wing fighter was approaching. But these were not the only dangers.
Dumbledore was both a very friendly and a very powerful man. These combinations meant he had a lot of connections in a lot of Fanverses. He had been forewarned of the attack on Hogwarts by the Star Wars Fanverse, and also a possible attack from the Lord of the Rings Fanverse, by these contacts, and also of other attacks from other rival Fanverses.
Strange that all these attacks should be on the same evening, he thought. Some might put it down to coincidence. More cynical people might put it down to an interesting plot development. Dumbledore was not cynical, nor did he believe in coincidence. He did, however, believe in conspiracies.
But he was not even worrying about conspiracies at that particular time. He was worrying about something he was viewing in his Pensieve, which was throwing silver light onto his wrinkled face. He had already watched it several times since he had obtained the memory, and it got no less disturbing.
But now, with enemy forces approaching on all sides, it dawned on him he might not get the chance to warn anyone – and the memory itself was quite fragile. Especially with Stormtroopers around. Perhaps the memory would be better off elsewhere, where someone else could watch it and realize the danger…
He took out the memory from the Pensieve and put it into a little bottle. He fastened an explanatory note around it, and after a moment's thought, put it in one of his own shoes. He muttered "Portus," and a moment later, it vanished. At least that was safe now, he thought. At least people will be warned…
Ignorance is bliss.
-
There is a room filled with hourglasses. Each hourglass is labelled with a name. The room is filled with the soft roar of sand pouring away from the top bulb to the other. Some are more full than others; some have only a few grains left. Some only ever had a few grains to begin with.
A black-cloaked figure stalks through the aisles of hourglasses. He has a strange sense of accomplishment. Before he had only been in charge of one Fanverse – an interesting Fanverse, to be sure, with plenty of cats, but just the one.
But now he had been hired – hired! Someone had taken notice of his accomplishments and requested its services. And he had the feeling that soon its services would be needed.
He reaches some of the new hourglasses. Most are still very full, suggesting a long full life ahead of the people they refer to, but what he reads in the nodes he worked out earlier disagrees.
It was as he had suspected - the fabric of the Plotlines was becoming distorted, tangled as the threads intercrossed and interfered with each other. Yet the individual Plotlines were still all struggling to continue on their given path, straining to tug free from knots and punch through obstructions.
But the fabric of the Plotlines was weak. Easily torn. And he knows what that would create.
But that isn't his problem. All that concerns him in this is the Duty.
He allows himself a sigh, closes the nodes and tucks them into an invisible pocket inside his cowl. He picks up his scythe, examines how the air glows an ethereal blue around the blade, and grins. Not that you could tell.
SHOWTIME, says Death.
Freakanature – They should be fine… couldn't be sure though. As you may have guessed from that last little bit, I am planning on killing some characters.
Kelly of the Midnight Dawn – Merry Shipper Christmas to you too! Only two months late…
Red Tigress – You'll find out soon enough… whoa, my evil side is coming through really strong today…
Mousewolf – I can think of several people who would use hobbits as target practice. But then, I know strange people.
writeR - …. How big?
Tiger of Robare – Believe me, it's on its way. I'm a huge fan too.
Kamineko – Well, one could say that they started it…