Drippin on the White City
Drippin woke to the sound of voices and the rattle of teaspoons on saucers. Another day of hiding and a night of journeying had passed, and the half-caff was beginning to think that Snackfast, Grandélf's horse, was trying to saw him in half using its backbone. Drippin blinked sleep out of his eyes and looked around.
Many men stood in their path, behind them rose a great wall of graham-cracker and shortbread, mortared with marshmallow creme and divinity. Torches and hurricane lanterns glowed dully here and there in the fog. Grandélf was speaking to the men that barred his way, and as he listened Drippin became aware that he himself was being discussed.
"Yea, truly, we know you, Milkeeway," said the leader of the men, using Grandélf's Elvish moniker, "And you know the pass-words and the secret handshake and are free to go forward. But we do not know your companion. What is he? Is he one of those little fellows that lives in trees and bakes cookies? I just love those Grasshoppers! If not, you should know then that we need no strangers in this land at this time, unless they be mighty men of valour who can wield a spatula like Jackie Chan!"
"I will vouch for him before the seat of Dentynethor," said Grandélf. "And as for his valour, that cannot be measured by his résumé. He has passed through more kitchens and cafés than you have, Idjit, though you be twice his height; and he comes now from the discombobulation of Isencoaster, of which he bears anecdotes, and great weariness in on him, or I would wake him up. His name is Drippin, a very valiant man, but not a morning person."
"Man?" said Idjit dubiously, and the others snickered.
"Man!" cried Drippin, now thoroughly roused. "Man! I could use a cup of coffee! But indeed not a Man am I! I am a half-caff and no more valiant than I am a nickel-plated waffle iron! Mmmm... waffles... Anyway, do not let Grandélf deceive you!"
"Many a doer of great deeds might say no more," said Idjit. "Are you the half-caff of which the prophecy spoke? Do you bring sugar and doom to Minas Teabag? Can you get me Elijah Wood's autograph?"
"Nay," said Grandélf, "he is not the one spoken of, yet one of his kindred. I'll trade you an autographed EJW for a candid lithograph of Eowyn wind-bathing."
"Done!" Therefollowed a furious swapping of paraphernalia.
Drippin held his head proudly, looking the man squarely in the navel. "I journeyed with that one of whom the riddle spoke and with Boromocha of your city, and he saved me in the snows of the North and at last was slain defending me from many foes."
"Slain? This is distressing tidings! Alas! that my Boromocha action-figure auctions will increase in value!" wept Idjit.
"Do not weep, good man," said Grandélf, "He's feeling a lot better. Boromocha will return to Minas Teabag, unless he kacks himself crossing the lands from Breadoras. He comes behind with the one who will become King... oops!" Grandélf blushed, "I mean... he comes behind with one who is Ben Kingsley!"
Drippin rolled his eyes at Grandélf. "Now look who's spilling the beans!"
"This much has already been guessed," said Idjit. "There have been strange portents here of late. The sun has disappeared and reappeared in the sky, a cow has given birth to a crocodile, and a mime has spoken. But pass on now quickly! For the Lord of Minas Teabag will be eager to have new persons to browbeat and with whom to discuss dental hygiene. Farewell!"
"Ciao," answered Grandélf, and he placed Drippin on Snackfast and sat behind him, and they rode on through the fields of Pelennor toward the gleaming city in the distance, Minas Teabag.
Drippin gazed in wonder at the vast walls of the city, white as refined sugar, that rose up, layer above layer, like a giant vanilla torté, blushing in the dawn; and suddenly the sun climbed over the eastern shadow and sent forth a shaft that smote the face of the City. Then Drippin cried aloud, and groped for his sunglasses, for the Tower of Éclairs, standing high within the topmost wall, shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of italian ice, tall and fair and sweet, and its pinnacle glittered as if it were wrought of crystals; and white banners broke and fluttered from the battlements, advertising toothpastes and personal injury-claims lawyers. From high and far away, Drippin heard the clear ringing of silver trumpets.
Drippin whistled. "It sure is a big white City, Grandélf," he said.
They came to a courtyard of stone, and in it was a tree. Drippin gave it a wide berth; he had had all the adventures with weird trees he cared for, thank you very much. On the steps that led to the throne of the Kings, Grandélf caught Drippin's arm and called a huddle.
"Be careful of your words, Master Drippin! This is no time for half-caff pertness. Karóden is a kindly old man. Dentynethor is of another sort, proud, subtle and a bit off his rocker. He will speak most to you, and question you much, since he likes to pick on people smaller than himself. He will think that it is easier to learn what he wishes from you rather than me. Do not tell him more that you need, and leave quiet the matter of the C-o-f-f-e-e-R-i-n-g. I will deal with that topic in due time. Don't mention NescaFrodo at all. And say nothing of Aromagorn returning and becoming King. Keep silent on the topic of Godivariel's infatuation with Dwarves, and Celeborn's 'little problem'... in fact, I have an excellent idea..." and he tore a strip from the hem of his white robes and gagged Drippin with it. "It probably won't work, but it's worth a shot," muttered the Wizard.
Drippin gave him a very dirty look.