[Diamond18]

Vogonwë was better at controlling his hormones than Orogarn Two, and felt no urge to pounce on either Merisuwyniel or Pimpiowyn (though, being like a cat, he would have done a very good job of pouncing had he been so inclined). He did feel moved to compose a poem in honor of their luscious beauty, and if he knew what was good for him he’d write more lines for Pimpi than for Merisuwyniel. But though Vogonwë had good control of his hormones, his brain was a different matter, and he seldom knew what was good for him.

That poem would have to wait, however, as his mind was filled with the second fit of the epic lay, and as is flitted fittishly through his grey matter, he stood and lifted his goblet for a toast once Orogarn Two was finished babbling.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “I would now like to recite for you a poem, or the second fit of a poem, to be precise. The Lay of the Entish Bow and the Hunting of the Orcs: Fit the Second, Confusion and Angst in Dark Places, to be precisely precise.”

“What about the first fit?” Celery asked unwittingly, as was his wont.

“Oh, quite true, thou of the Topfloorien persuasion did not hear the first fit of the bit!” Vogonwë exclaimed. “I shall have to repeat it—”

Pimpi gave him a meaningful look and winked in an odd manner, uttering a noise somewhat akin to, “Mmmmm! Uh-uh.”

Vogonwë heeded her judgement, and said, “On second thought, it doesn’t matter much either way, you can hear the first fit second or first, and the second fit first or second, or the second fit second or first or the first fit first or second, or the fit first second—”

“Mmmmm!”

“Anyway, here it is— Confusion and Angst in Dark Places—

They left the Elven Farm,
They left the Farm to face harm,
The day was warm.
And sunny.

They walked for days, or weeks,
And ate leeks,
Every night for dinner.
They came to the mountains,
So far from the fountains,
Of the Elven Farm.

After a time,
They sought to climb a pass,
They clumb Canthardlee,
But did not get over, not hardly.
So they found a cave,
With rocks it was paved,
And through the pinkish gloom they went,
Their bravery and energy not yet spent.

That night they camped again,
They camped again, all of them.
They had gone there and back again,
And were in a sore mood when,
Out in the dark they heard a bark,
And then another.

“The Baskerwargs!” Gormlessar cried,
“They’ve come to eat our scrawny hides!
To rip our flesh and chew on our bones,
Oh I wish we’d never left home!”

(Halfullion muttered, “I never said that at all,” but Vogonwë had up a head of steam and puffed on.)

It seemed for a while that all was lost,
For fire came at an awful cost,
Which they didn’t want to pay.
But they had to do something, anyway.

Then all at once, the world was silent,
The leaves whispered in the air,
For they were pliant.
“They’re gone, they’re gone!” the Questers cried,
“They’ve gone and ‘twas Master Brownbark who did the deed!
He the barking did not heed,
And sent them running with his words and punning!”

(“That’s my department!” Halfullion huffed, but Merisuwyniel laid a reassuring pale hand on his arm, and he began to drool like a slavering Baskerwarg.)

“Praise him, praise him,
With great praise!
Gosh darn golliwog,
Give that boy a raise!”
But the hero demurred,
And they went to sleep.

The next day,
They opted to take the Subway,
And so they did,
Even though the dragon was really big.

Days it seemed they wandered,
While poetic thoughts they pondered,
As they wandered, and wandered, and wandered.
Up one tunnel and down another,
On wheels that rattled like thunder.
Maps they read, and tickets they sought,
The garden idea was all for naught,
But they found them one way or another.

As they were rolling merrily along,
The Dragon fell off, and broke his crown.
Then they heard, to their chagrin,
An awful, clinking, noisy din.
“Mithril-Munching Moria Mice!” cried the Dwarf.
“Mice aren’t nice when they’ve got a mouthful of mithril,
Especially if you’re wearing said mithril.”
But Merisuwyniel sang a note,
And everything was okey-doke.

They neared the end of their dark journey,
When the Wizard left them in a hurry,
Saying “Fly, you fools!” in a flurry.

A massive Balfrog followed them at a jog,
And scared them like spoiled grog,
And smoggy fog.
But the Dragon flew (who knew!)
And the Balfrog didn’t,
So that was the end of that little incident.

So the dauntless heroes left the zeroes,
Of the dark empty pits of nothingness,
That are wont to be in places of darkness.
The fearless friskers felt far brisker and crisper,
Once they were in fresh air again.
And they set their sites for fair Topfloorien.