Sorry for the brevity of this chapter. I didn't have anything else to say.

The allusion was The Avengers, a tribute to Coulson. Look for "one good eye."

Part Two: Tigwit's Fundraiser

Chapter 3

Galadriel's anger knew no bounds. Once she found out that her special pet Frodo Baggins had broken the no-swimming laws (a fact which he loudly protested) she could not be calmed, not even by Celeborn, and she stormed about like a green algea monster for half an hour.

"You are doomed!" she cried. "You will be fined three hundred pennies!"

"But we haven't got three hundred pennies!" whispered Sam, mortified.

"You will produce them within the fortnight!" cried Galadriel. "Now begone from my sight!"
Frodo and Sam slunk out of the room.

"We weren't swimming noways," said Sam, when Feren laid a hand consolingly on his shoulder. "I was just trying to get to the boat."

"You were swimming," said Frodo, "I was falling. It isn't fair."

"Cheer up, my lads," said Feren.

"Don't suppose you have three hundred pennies on you?" asked Sam, hopefully.

"Unfortunately not," said Feren. "But once my record label begins to sell, I am quite confident. . ." he left them alone and went whistling off to find Rumil.

Rumil was sitting outside Orophin's door, holding a pair of handcuffs and listening with interest to rather boisterous conversation going on inside.

"I saw that in your sleeve."

"No, you didn't."

"I did too."

"I don't have sleeves."

"Isn't that a sleeve?"

"That's my skin, you stupid elfling."

"How disgusting."

"Your face is disgusting."

Rumil snickered and winked at Feren. Feren smiled wanly, like an older brother whose soul is tried by his erring protégé but who has determined to see things through to the end.

"It gives me great grief," he said, as a loud thud reported that either Bolg or Orophin had just flown across the room (and it wasn't hard to guess which), "that these things must end so sadly for your brother, Rumil, but, after all, what can we do?"

There were more thuds and thumps, and a few cries of "Ouch!"

Rumil's smile weakened. "Do you think he'll kill him?" he asked, and Feren thought he heard a touch of worry in his tone.

"What is this?" he demanded. "Weakness? When did elves show weakness?"

"Mummy might be upset," said Rumil.

"Might," said Feren, clapping his shoulder, "and on that one word hangs the weight of a thousand philosophy books."

"Let's go in," said Rumil, gesturing to the guards who were hiding behind the curtains.

"Avast my hearties!" cried Feren, loudly, "and follow your reckless leader!" And he dashed through the door, making sure to shut it in Rumil's face before he could come in after him.

There was no need. Bolg, at the warning shout of "Avast my hearties" had leapt through the window and climbed to the room above, where Pippin and Merry were waiting to record. He was out of sight by the time Rumil stumbled through the door, rubbing his nose and looking very annoyed.

Orophin was whimpering on the floor, his pockets turned out.

"I'll get that orc," he muttered. "I'll get –" but he didn't finish, because the sudden sight of handcuffs being clapped around his wrists was too great of a shock.

"Come, brother," said Rumil. "I've got a nice little cell all set up for you. I even got your favorite cookies."

Feren swung out the window and climbed up to the recording studio.

"So," he said to Bolg, who was already busy playing with the controls, a pair of wires between his teeth and some pliers in his hand.

"Mmm-hm," said Bolg.

Feren turned to Pippin and Merry.

"Hit it!"