Goings-on In Gondaroma

The Lord Steward Dentynethor had recalled Grandélf and Drippin to his court after he had taken his morning cup of coffee. He was noticeably more hospitable, yet to the Wizard's eye, appeared also more calculating and reserved, as if he knew something important that he was waiting for the perfect moment to spring on them.

And he was not alone in his chamber; beside him stood a Man that Drippin had not yet met. The half-caff stared in wonder, for this strange man bore a remarkable resemblance to Boromocha, except that his face was smeared with green and black paint and there were leafy branches stuck through his hair and covering his armour.

"This is Faramocha, my youngest son," said Dentynethor without pride, gesturing to the strange man.

"Dad!" hissed the man. He stood very still and muttered out of the side of his mouth, "I am in disguise!"

Dentynethor rolled his eyes, "Sorry... this is my, er... houseplant..."

Faramocha sighed in exasperation, "I am a shrubbery!"

"Right! My... er, shrubbery... and it has returned to Minas Teabag from Isillyin to report that the armies of Mordonut are marching toward our fair Café, bent on drinking all of our coffee and consuming all our jellyrolls, leaving behind only those nasty dry cake donuts with the multicoloured sprinkles that nobody eats."

Faramocha suddenly noticed Drippin standing next to Grandélf. "Oh! Lookie! Another half-pint creamer! Do you know a couple of chaps called NescaFrodo and Sanka?" He seemed to forget his camouflage and came forward, squatting down in front of Drippin and prodded his round tummy with a forefinger. "Isn't he cute? Can I have one, Dad?"

Drippin slapped his hand away, blushing. "We prefer to be called 'Half-caffs', sir, if you don't mind. And do you mean to say you have seen my cousin and his manservant on their way to Mordonut?"

Grandélf sputtered and clapped a hand over Drippin's mouth. "Remember what I told you, you foolish Tookas! Ut-shay or-yay outh-may about the ing-Ray, sav-ay?" While the simple-minded half-caff tried to work out Grandélf's words, the wizard said to Dentynethor: "My lord, are you ready to hear me? For not all the news I bear is dark; your son Boromocha lives, and he is coming to Minas Teabag by roads unseen. Will you not sound the silver trumpets of which he is so fond of speaking?"

"You think that you are a wiseacre, Milkeeway, but for all your subtle teas, you have not wisdom! Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are nearsighted? I have seen further than you know!" Reaching into his robes, Dentynethor withdrew a glass object, and Drippin gasped as he recognized the PalanTV, so similar to the one he had looked into, that had been taken from the soggy wreckage of Isencoaster.

"CSI:Middle-girth and DateLine have been covered your movements since you left Imladrip, Grandélf! I saw your fall in Moreeka, and the battle with the Foulgrog! I saw that rag-tag company escape to Loriándadánish, and the chocolate and magic that was brewed there! And I saw my son fall upon the green mound of Perk Galen, surrounded by enemies and friendless!"

"Then you must have seen that your son did not die, but was wounded merely!" cried Drippin. "Did you happen to see the last episode of 'Lost'? I'm dying to know what happened to Charlie..." Grandélf caught Drippin's collar and shushed him.

"I did not see, for then my reception was cast into confusion, and I was assailed by visions of dark ships and flamboyantly dressed persons staggering about, besmudged with excesses of masquera and displaying extremely poor dental hygiene. It is the future of Minas Teabag I have seen! Her end, and the End for all Enemies of the Dark Café. Why should we fight it?"

Dentynethor's face became aglow with madness. He turned to Faramocha, who was staring at him in growing alarm. "And you... why couldn't you be more like your brother? You allowed our one chance to conquer over Bad Coffee to slip away, in the hands of a witless half-caff--"

"Hey!" shouted Drippin, "Watch who're calling 'witless'! That's my cousin you're talking about! NescaFrodo has the big pretty blue eyes; I am the witless one!"

Dentynethor turned away from them, muttering darkly, "The CoffeeRing should have been brought here, hidden in the darkest and deepest cupboard. Not to be used... no! not until the very most utter end of need, when there is naught left to drink at teatime but instant decaf or diet cola."

"I would not brew that coffee, Father," said Faramocha, shaking his head and moving to stand next to Grandélf and Drippin, "not if Minas Teabag was asleep and I alone could wake her! I may be crazy, but I ain't that far gone!"

"So," Dentynethor turned and frowned at him, fingering his remote control angrily, "you would turn against your own father, and take sides with a wandering wizard and a half-sized creamer? It matters not... the end shall be the same. Fight if you wish, fools! I no longer care. I'm going to go and catch up on my soaps!" Dentynethor swept from the hall, taking his remote control and his PalanTV with him.

"What do we do now, Grandélf?" asked Drippin, as he watched Faramocha beginning to pick leaves and twigs out of his hair. "Is there any hope for NescaFrodo and Sanka, and for us? Lord Dentynethor has seen much in the PalanTV, and he says we're all doomed!"

Grandélf placed a comforting hand on Drippin's shoulder. "Don't believe everything you see in the PalanTV, my lad! Much Dentynethor may have seen, but much he may have missed, for one must consider commercial editing and trips to the little Steward's Room. He cannot know with certainty what the End will be, nor how it will come. We must have faith that help will come to us." Grandélf led him to the window that looked out eastward, toward the dark and forbidding mountains that fenced Mordonut. "All our hopes now rest in NescaFrodo's hands."

Below them, the fields of Pelennor were crowded and noisy as hundreds of thousands of horcs, gobblings, bridge-trolls, paquerfanz, Grondhogs, construction workers, gremlins, Oléophants, gothpunks, barristers, gianocerouses, truck drivers, and hoards of other scary and thirsty individuals clammoured and shoved each other, trying to get to the front of the service queue.

"What shall we do, Grandélf? How do we fight them?" Faramocha asked, who was behaving in a surprisingly sane and cognant manner now that his father had left the room.

Grandélf looked down upon the army of dark customers, and his aged face lit with a grim smile. "It is time to use our secret weapon. Serve them the fruitcake!"

Faramocha stared at the wizard in surprise. "That is so cruel, Grandélf! Isn't using fruitcake against the Geneva Convention?"

Grandélf favoured him with a genuine smile. "This is Middle-girth! There is no such place as Geneva here!"