Loosely based on The Knight Before Christmas – a made-for-TV time-slip rom-com so cheesy you could spread it on bread dough and make an instant Quattro Formaggio.
Sian spotted this gem, and suggested we write a parody as a joint effort. But she's had a lot going on, so I thought I'd see if I could cobble something together on my own by way of a Christmas cheer up.
With profound apologies to everyone. My characters, my readers, the whole world… for doing this to them. Also, I have not seen the monstrosity in question, but I have got a script, and I have got the trailer. So off we go. Buckle up, it's gonna be a cheesy ride.
~o~O~o~
Faramir stamped his feet. Morgoth's balls, it was cold. A day to go to Mettare, and instead of being in the glow of warm fires and bright beeswax candles in the welcoming heart of his Uncle's townhouse in Minas Tirith, he was freezing his own balls off on patrol near the ruins of Osgiliath. In the fitful moonlight, he could just make out the bridge spanning the Anduin. Time and again, his father stressed the strategic importance of holding the crossing.
"Hail, brother." Boromir's voice cut through the chill night air. He held out a flask. "Some Tolfalas brandy to keep out the chill?"
"How goes it?" Faramir asked, taking the flask gratefully.
"All quiet so far. And yet I feel uneasy. The night seems filled with fell intent. Some witch-craft is afoot."
"I saw a rider earlier. Did he bring you tidings from Minas Tirith?"
"Aye, and from further afield. A letter from Theodred of Rohan. He fears there is a traitor in the court, moving against him. Someone has the ear of his father the king, and is spreading mischief. He goes so far as to say that he worries about being his father's only heir."
"A small family… Has he no kin in line of succession?"
"Alas, no. Theoden's sister died some twenty years past, and her husband too, slain by orcs. Their children, a boy and a baby girl, disappeared without trace. Their nurse was found slain, but of the children, nary a sign… But hearken, here comes Damrod."
Damrod, Faramir's lieutenant, bowed deeply. "Your orders, sirs?"
Boromir spoke. "Take your men and head inland to reconnoitre the approaches. I will head downstream with a small party. Faramir, take Firion and head upstream."
"The Valar speed you, brother," Faramir replied, touching his hand to his breast.
~o~O~o~
"Can I borrow your bike?"
Éomer looked up from his phone. His sister was standing in the doorway of the small sitting room. Already in her leathers, helmet tucked under her arm, blonde hair neatly plaited behind her back. The tinsel along the door frame was somewhat at odds with her Valkyrie appearance, and made Éomer struggle to suppress a smile. But suppress it he did, because he was damned if he was giving up without a struggle. Curse her cocky confidence; she knew he'd say yes. In a grumpy voice, he made a token effort at resistance.
"And have you scratch the paintwork again, Wyn?"
"I got Farouk down at the garage to fix it up again, didn't I? Good as new."
"Isn't yours fixed yet?"
"Farouk said after Christmas some time. He's waiting for a part. So..." Éowyn put on her best winsome expression. Her best winsome expression wasn't very good, but she was nothing if not a trier. "Can I borrow your bike?"
Éomer grunted. "You break it, you fix it."
"Ta! You're an angel. Love you..." Éowyn grinned broadly, and made for the front door, pausing to kiss Éomer on the cheek as she passed.
"You mean you love my bike," Éomer said, but he couldn't help the twitch of an answering smile.
"I'm going to grab some last minute presents for the kids. Late night shopping and all that."
The kids were "Uncle" Theo's girlfriend's children. Éowyn doted on them, Éomer knew. Why she kept banging on about how she wasn't bothered with having a bloke and a family, when she went gooey eyed whenever they pulled out the box of lego… He gave his head a shake. He knew full well why she kept banging on about that. The bloke from back when she was on a tour of duty in Estonia. Top bloke. Éomer had liked him. Fantastic soldier. Fantastically brave. Fantastically nice. With (as it turned out) a fantastic fiancée. But it wasn't something either of them mentioned.
With a last cheery wave, Éowyn slammed the door behind her. Éomer shook his head. Sisters. Who'd have 'em? Then his face broke into a smile despite himself. It wasn't often both of them were on leave at the same time, and to both have leave over Christmas was a rare treat indeed.
Outside, Éowyn wheeled the Yamaha out of the garage, gunned the throttle and headed for the centre of town. No snow – this was Berkshire, after all, but the Christmas lights were pretty. Éowyn loved being home with the family. She couldn't remember arriving at Uncle Theo's; she'd been just a baby. But he was as much her father as any blood relative could be.
Things had hit a rough patch back when she was coming to the end of primary school, when Auntie Sue died. But together the three of them had got through it, and five years later, Theo had taken up with Jane and her two kids, so Christmases (when she was on leave, that was) were filled with a built-in excuse to play with toys.
She left the bike by the kerb on the high street, then went into her favourite toy shop. No prizes for guessing what would go down well with Kelly – it had to be the lego "Starkiller duel" set. Seven year old Kelly wanted to grow up to be Rey. Or maybe a wookie – a "lady wookie", as she had said very insistently. For four year old Callum… Well, she knew Uncle Theo had bought him a station to go with his wooden railway set, so the obvious thing was an engine shed. Delighted with her purchases, she stowed them safely in her rucksack, and went back to the bike.
~o~O~o~
Faramir and Firion struggled through the undergrowth. It was dark now; the moon had gone behind a cloud.
Suddenly from the shadows several arrows whistled through the air. Faramir ducked behind a tree, nocking an arrow to the string as he did so, and loosed a shot in return. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Firion, his face twisted in pain. The boy had a black fletched shaft protruding from his leg; nonetheless he too nocked an arrow to the string.
A glint of dull metal two score paces away, towards the river bank. Faramir sent another arrow into the air. He was rewarded with a guttural cry, and the splash of a body tumbling into the water. He knew now where the enemy was, but not how many. Curse the cloud cover. Another whistle, and the leaves next to him rustled as an arrow buried itself in the bark of the trunk behind him. Firion's bow twanged, and there was another thud and shout of pain as his arrow hit home.
"Go, back to your brother. Get the news of the ambush back to him. I can't run. I'll hold them here while you escape."
"No, 'tis certain death."
"But you know I'm right." Firion sagged down against the boulder behind him. Another couple of arrows cut through the air just beside them. "You haven't got much time..."
Suddenly, from beside the river bank, a blinding flash of white light blossomed. In the afterglow, Faramir could see the bodies of the orcs, scattererd like ears of corn blasted by a harvest storm. Through the glow, a figure in grey robes stepped towards him As Faramir's eyes recovered from the flash, he recognised the figure.
"Mithrandir," he gasped in wonder.
The wizard knelt down beside Firion.
"I will look after your comrade and return him to your brother."
"You speak as if I am not to come with you."
"No, a different fate awaits you," Mithrandir spoke. His voice took on a solemn tone. "The quest you have searched for long and hard, these many years, begins this day. You shall travel to faraway lands, see things undreamed of. Things of wonder: flying steel dragons and horses, magic boxes that make merry. Things of terror: wars of horror, weapons beyond your imagining. "You must meet the horseman whose horse is stabled in the sky, who will turn the tide of battle, and the swordsman who is no man, who will fulfil a prophecy, and slay an ancient enemy. Together they will change the future of this world. And will bring you face to face with your destiny." Mithrandir stood and held out his staff at arms length, pointing back to the white glow in the distance. He intoned some words in Elvish, and suddenly, within the glow, a swirling tunnel appeared, stretching into a distance beyond imagining. "There lies your path, Faramir son of Denethor. The Valar speed you." Grasping his bow, Faramir stepped forward. Swallowing his fear he advanced into the swirling lights. For good or ill, he would embark on this quest.~o~O~o~
Things of wonder, indeed! He found himself on a street at night – but what a night. The brightest lights, brighter than chandeliers with a thousand candles, banished the darkness. The lights were of many colours – waterfalls of lights, snowflakes of lights. Strung across the street between the buildings, sleighs such as they used in the mountains were picked out, drawn by shining, glittering deer with antlers, driven by toy men, plump, jolly, dressed all in red.
So intent was he on the lights suspended above his head, he collided with a man hurrying in the opposite direction.
"Your pardon, good sir..."
Faramir's apology was cut off by the man's brusque reply. The reply was a form of the Common Tongue, but not a dialect he had heard before. Faramir wasn't sure he recognised all the words, but the tone suggested the sentiment was an invitation to visit the frozen wastes of Angband… and none too politely expressed either.
Fixing his attention on the street before him so as not to collide with anyone else, he began to explore his new surroundings. The street was clean and well laid-out – pavements for those on foot were raised above the level of the gutters, with a central pathway for, he presumed, wagons. But admirably clean – they must have a veritable army of night soilmen to ensure that not a trace of dung was to be seen anywhere.
A family coming the other way paused. The two children nudged one another and giggled.
"Mum, mum, it's Robin Hood!"
The woman holding the children's hands gave a slightly uncertain smile in his direction, then muttered to the children, "He's probably doing a panto or something. Wants us to buy tickets."
Again, most of it made sense, but some of the words were new to him. "Panto"? And who was "Robin Hood"? While he pondered on this, the woman steered the children round him, still looking as though she wasn't quite sure of him.
From behind him he heard a male voice shout out.
"Oi, you in the green. Bit tall for one of Santa's elves, aren't you?"
He turned to see a couple of men standing outside what appeared to be a hostelry. Each held a tankard of beer, and was smoking pipeweed, the sort Mithrandir was so inordinately fond of – but rolled into thin tubes rather than in pipes. They were at the merry stage of drunkenness, as far as he could tell, but he read them for the kind of fellows whose mood might turn in an instant. Best to cross the street, he felt.
He stepped off the pavement, and all hell broke loose. There was a roaring noise, then a screech, then he was hit an enormous blow from behind and found himself flung to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. Both winded and with a blow to the head, he lay in the gutter. The world swam before him.
In the middle of the road, a machine of shining metal lay on its side. "Steeds of steel": the words came back to him from somewhere, but where, in his dazed state, he couldn't quite place. To the side of it, lay a figure in leather hauberk and leggings, wearing a helm – a strange, spherical helm with the eyes covered by some sort of smoked glass. Gingerly, the figure got to his feet, testing his movements seemingly to make sure nothing was broken, then made his way towards where Faramir lay. Faramir's sight swam – there was something slightly off about the figure, but he couldn't make out what it was. He managed to speak, his voice coming out in a croak. For the second time that night, he apologised.
"Your pardon, good sir."
The knight (for such he presumed it was) reached up and unfastened the chin strap of his helm, then lifted it clear of his head.
"Dude, I'm a girl!"
Faramir stared, astonished, at the young woman with the delicate features and long braid of blonde hair. And… now he knew what was off about the figure… the elegant curves of her body, clad in black leather. His addled mind whirled. Flowers fair, and maidens fairer, have I seen, but none as fair as thee. Then he passed out.