Hey everyone,

Sorry for the delay and thank you for the reviews. I'm back at uni :(

(And I FINALLY started reading The Silmarillion (you know, for some 'light' reading). All I can say is, for all those times when I read a bit of Fanfiction and thought 'Werewolves? People's hands getting bitten off? Curses? Creepy love interests? No, no, this is too far-fetched..." I'm sorry for doubting your canon-ness.

Also, Feanor is a dick.)

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Vimes was standing in the Low King's mines, listening to the knockermen. Then Carrot appeared and gave him a reproachful look.

'What is it, Carrot?'

'Sir, all you're thinking about is treacle.'

Vimes was about to protest that the treacle had never been further from his mind, but the knocking drowned him out. It grew louder, and Carrot started jabbing him in the shoulder, shouting 'Vimes! Vimes!'

XXXX

Vimes woke up; his dream dissipated. Frodo was urgently shaking him awake. 'Vimes! Oh thank Eru. Listen - they are coming.'

'They?' asked Vimes, springing to his feet dramatically. They were never good news. There were so many possibilities about who they were, for one thing.

The rest of the company had their weapons drawn, and were facing the double doors through which they'd entered hours earlier. Someone had tried to wedge them shut with a couple of axes. Footsteps and harsh calls were audible. It was clear by the volume that whatever was out there wasn't going to be stopped by those doors for long.

'That doesn't sound very good. Anything more specific to tell me?'

Frodo shrugged, wide-eyed in the gloom (or maybe it was just his usual expression, it was hard to tell). 'Orcs, I think. At least Sting's glowing, so that probably means Orcs.'

'Sting? Orcs? Glowing? Frodo, are you all right?' Vimes frowned at the hobbit, wondering which one of them was the mad one. Then memory dawned. 'Oh, Orcs... i remember being told about them. Look, don't worry, they probably just want to talk.'

People started hammering on the doors. No, not hammering - hacking and slicing away at the wood.

Vimes found himself at the back of the room with the hobbits. The other members of the Fellowship were standing in front of them in various heroic poses. Vimes felt he should insist he didn't need protection, and that he should be right up the front too, but then he decided he could always complain afterwards.

If they survived. The battle cries outside were bloodcurdling. He wished his butler were there.

Vimes turned to Sam who was standing next to him, clutching a hobbit-sized sword. 'Look, ' he said to Sam. 'Having a sword you don't know how to use is actually more dangerous than not having a sword at all - people will attack you if they see you holding a sword!'

Sam gave him a measured look. 'If it's all the same to you, Mister Vimes, I think I'll hold on to my sword. I don't think being unarmed is going to stop them from trying to kill us.'

'Do they have Orcs on the Pisk?' Pippin asked. He was shaking slightly, but Vimes could tell, despite the danger, he really wanted to know.

'Shouldn't you be concentrating?' hissed Merry. 'Remember what Boromir tried to show you?' And as an afterthought, 'What are Pisk Orcs like?'

Suddenly a huge bellow sounded from outside, and a massive cave troll burst through the doors. 'Stay back!' Vimes shouted. 'Trolls can't digest organic life forms, but a lot of them don't know that!'

He rushed forward, desperately trying to assemble his basic trollish into a coherent sentence. From the pattern of lichen growing on it, he judged it was probably female. He wasn't sure though, and he didn't want to offend it - better address it in gender-neutral terms for now.

'Grrargh? Grrea'arrgh ahoorgrah?'

The troll did not reply.

Goblins poured through after the troll, slashing and hacking and being slashed and hacked in return. There were far too many to arrest. Vimes was dimly aware that the Orcs were giving him a wide berth. Anyone mad enough to challenge a cave troll was someone to be avoided.

The troll gave him a dull look. There was no spark of intelligence in the depths of its crusty eyes. It raised a hammer to make Vimes into a Sam sandwich. He darted out of the way.

'Watch out!' Vimes warned the company, who carried on ignoring him. 'It's too warm here, the troll won't be thinking properly!' He hefted his sword, then decided his truncheon was a better bet. A cry of pain distracted him.

It was Sam. He wasn't hurt, but he'd just seen Frodo getting skewered by a massive Orc, and he didn't look happy. Worse, a second Orc, nearly as big, had also noticed Sam's distress and had clearly decided it was a good time to attack.

The Orc leapt, sword outstretched. Vimes truncheoned its fingers Orc dropped its sword, then went briefly cross-eyed as Vimes kicked it in a dastardly fashion. It started to bend double, but then it met the Vimes elbow. All went dark.

Three of its fellow Orcs waved their swords menacingly and advanced on Vimes. It wasn't a fair fight at all. All he had to do was keep out of their way and throw a couple of punches into the mix. Excellent, thought Vimes happily, and stepped back to watch - right into the path of yet another Orc. They're everywhere! he thought, desperately ducking a blade that would have beheaded him (1).

There was a terrible Glooiiiinnnngggg! sound and Vimes' attacker was felled by an invisible foe. Well, by a hobbit. 'Nice work with the saucepan, Sam', said Vimes, by way of thanks, 'but I really wish my butler were here.'

xxxxxx

'Elrond?'

Elrond sighed. These days he couldn't get an hour's peace without someone exasperating demanding his attention.

'What is it this time, Erestor?'

'Er... we've had a message, Lord. From Saruman.'

'Saruman? That bastard! What does he want?'

'Er... he says to tell you to stop messing around with people from the Discworld. Says it's flung the whole of space-time-narrative into chaos, sir. Says we've picked the wrong person to join the quest, your Half-elvenness. And that his Orcs are on strike.'

'The space-time... what? On strike? What does that mean?'

'He doesn't know, your Elfship. That's just what their signs say. 'We're on strike', and 'Slaughtering rights for hardworking Orcs'. I can't make head nor tail of it either.'

'Oh, Valar,' groaned Elrond. 'I'm going to have to talk to Vetinari again.'

But it was Galadriel who was waiting to talk to him. 'What,' she demanded, 'are you playing at?' The rippling effect of the waters of her fountain did not make her frown any more terrifying, because nothing could. It didn't make it less terrifying, either.

'Well,' Elrond blustered, 'We- er- that is to say, Gandalf suggested-'

'Stop blithering,' she snapped. She peered into his eyes for a few seconds. Elrond resisted the urge to shut them.

'Hmmm...' she said. 'Oh, really?' She peered a little longer. 'I see.. ' Her eyes unfocused momentarily, and then her gaze stopped penetrating the depths of his mind and became merely uncomfortably sharp.

'Right,' she said. 'Where is Gandalf? Bloody fool's strayed into shadow again. I can't keep tabs on him when he does this! I'm beginning to suspect he does this sort of thing on purpose.' She gave him a stern look. She was good at those.

'Er.. what exactly is going on?' Elrond asked, timidly.

'Anti-narrativium,' she answered brusquely. 'Orcs on strike will only be the start of it, you'll see. I can't believe Vetinari is merely a mortal. That reminds me - we're playing Thud, and it's my move. I'd better send his wizards a message.' She smiled for a second. 'I haven't played a game in Ages against someone who's my equal. It's so nice to find someone who provides a bit of a challenge for once! Gandalf cheats.'

'Er...' said Elrond again. Then he broke off, insulted. He'd played chess with Galadriel only a couple of centuries ago. At the time, he'd suspected she was bored, and now he knew for sure.

'Anyway, run along,' she said. 'You young ones must have something to do to keep yourselves occupied. When I was your age, I made my own entertainment!'

xxxx

Vimes was thrilled Frodo was alive. But he couldn't shake a sense that everything was a little too neat. Hidden armour? The thought persisted as they ran desperately through the mines, their pursuers brandishing horribly sharp-edged weapons.

Gimli had to be dragged away by Legolas: he hadn't wanted to leave Balin's tomb, despite the danger. 'But the intricately carved runes!' they heard him wail. 'It may be my only chance to examine the craftdwarfship!' Hearing Gimli's mourning, the rest of the Fellowship shook their heads in sorrow and pity.

They ran, tall people pulling the short people along. Lots of Orcs chased them. Vimes was good at running, but he wasn't as young as he was. Nonetheless, he'd die if he had to slow down now. Literally.

Gimli barely had time to appreciate the incredible stonework and engineering they were racing through when fire flared behind them. Long tongues of flame shot out of the shadows and lit the caverns with a hellish glow.

Gandalf shouted something about not being able to hold... something. Glancing back over his shoulder, Vimes saw a terrible creature emerging from the darkness. It was huge, seemingly made of shadow and flame, and whirling a fiery whip around its head. Eyes glowed like a rather nasty volcano God. It looked a little like a Golem emerging from a fire, but with none of a Golem's cuddliness. It also looked a little like the mine sign scrawled back by Balin's tomb.

'A balrog,' said Gandalf.

'Hey, that was my line!' said Legolas.

'A demon fro- What?'

'Oh, nothing. Just felt a bit confused... '

'This is a foe beyond any of you!' Gandalf continued, deciding to ignore the interruption. 'Run!'

Vimes thought that was the best advice he'd heard all day.

They came to a narrow bridge and raced across it. Except for Gandalf. 'We're nearly out of the caves', Aragorn yelled, looking back across the terrible chasm where Gandalf stood alone.

Come on!' shouted Vimes, clutching his stitch. 'That thing won't be able to cross the bridge- we just keep going, and it'll fall to its doom all by itself!'

Aragorn looked as if he was about to agree, but then Gandalf's voice cut in. 'You shall not pass!' he shouted, his sword blazing white in answer to the balrog's fiery challenge. He smote the bridge with his staff, and the bridge cracked asunder. The balrog fell. So did Gandalf.

Vimes caught Aragorn's eye, and they both shrugged. 'Let's go,' said Legolas. Vimes was sure he caught Gimli muttering something about a 'silly old fool'. Boromir grabbed Frodo, who wanted to run to Gandalf's aid.

They ran out of the caves, into the light. Grief (mixed with exasperation) took over.

'That was totally unnecessary,' Boromir said, wiping tears away discretely.

'Sad, but foolish,' Aragorn agreed. 'After all, it's not as if balrogs have wings.'

'They do have wings!' said Merry. 'I mean, I doubt that thing would have got enough lift to fly in such a narrow space, but Gandalf probably didn't realise that - he went to stop it so it wouldn't fly at us. Poor Gandalf,' he added, sniffing. 'I always loved his fireworks.'

'I didn't see any wings,' said Legolas. 'But then, there was a lot of shadow! And flame!'

'They are definitely wingless,' Aragorn said firmly. 'Merry probably just thought he'd seen wings. It was probably just the whip.'

Boromir snorted. 'Of course they have wings! Everyone knows that.'

'Oh yes?' said Pippin. 'Fought one, have you? Sorry, Merry,' he added, borrowing Merry's handkerchief so he could wipe his eyes. 'I'm with Aragorn on this one. No wings.'

'We all just saw one with our own eyes!' Gimli broke in. 'How is it that none of us saw whether it was winged or not?'

'I was a little preoccupied!' said Sam. 'I was caring for Frodo, and also I got a nasty cut in that fight back there!'

'Anyway, we're short. We didn't get a very good view,' said Pippin.

'I was emotionally distraught!' said Aragorn. 'Mithrandir is an old friend!'

'Oh, but not too emotionally distraught to start this argument in the first place!'

'I'm still emotionally distraught!' cried Frodo.

'It's a moot point,' said Legolas. 'Even if they did have wings, I think Merry's right. The balrog wouldn't have been able to fly across the chasm in that narrow space. It's simple physics.' He looked around loftily, as if he'd proved his point, then said 'Oh, look! A butterfly.'

'They'd have to have a massive wingspan to lift that much bulk,' said Aragorn in an argumentative tone. 'Totally impractical for a cave-dweller.'

'Well, let's work this out logically, shall we?' said Gimli. 'It's a few simple calculations. We need to factor in velocity, how much weight the balrog was carrying - that whip looked heavy - and then work out whether there would be enough space for it to fly.'

'It's a simple question, I agree.' Boromir at each of the Fellowship in turn. 'What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen balrog?'

'And,' said Merry, 'Did Gandalf have to break the bridge like that, or was his sacrifice foolish and unnecessary?'

'Er,' said Vimes. 'When you've all finished, I've fried some bacon. I thought you'd all be a bit upset and need a meal before we run again.' He moved the frying pan off the fire and waved it at them. 'You know,' he added, 'from the rest of those Orcs.'

XXX

Gandalf woke from oblivion. Light pierced his eyes. What had happened? Why was he so cold? He'd... he remembered fighting a balrog, at the roots of a mountain he'd wrestled with it... had he died?

The light above him began to separate into distinct shapes as his eyes got used to it.

'Ah,' said a robust voice. 'Our visiting lecturer has arrived! Now I want you chaps to give him a rousing Faculty welcome!'

(1) Ironically, giving Vimes' ancestor's head-chopping.