[Mithadan]

The Grand Hall in Minas Anor was lit in a subdued fashion but was nonetheless the focus of much activity. Fabrics and banners were being draped upon the walls and a veritable spider's web of wiring ran from and across the stage. A small army of men and women were sweeping the floors and dusting the fixtures. An undercurrent of barely controlled panic ran through the room.

In a corner, around a conference table, sat several people speaking in loud voices, punctuated by wild gestures. At the head of the table sat member number 4. He shuffled through reams of paper and flipped through a pile of pads as the others spoke. His blue jeans looked as if he had slept in them and his gold t-shirt bore coffee stains and a small yellow post-it note which read "kick me".

"Mith," said one of the frantic managers. "Our lead act called. She says that she wants Lembas and Miruvor in her dressing room or she's not coming."

Mithadan glared at the worker. "Galadriel is the only one who knows how to make Lembas and she...is...in...VALINOR!" he shouted. "Call up our artist and tell her that, and remind her that she is under contract. Wait. Better yet, tell her fine, maybe we'll see her next year."

He picked up a cell phone and dialed a number rapidly. "George?" he said. "Its Mith. Yeah, I'm doing great. How's the kids? Good, good. Listen George, we'd like to move you up to open the show. Hmmm? OK, let me write this down. Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Black and Red, Budweiser? OK, done. Just come an hour early for the sound check. Yeah. Ciao to you too dude."

An Elf spoke next. "Bywater Fabrics called," she said. "They have no red carpet. We called Pelargir Carpet and Tile and they sent over this sample." She handed over a swatch.

Mithadan groaned. "This is not red," he snapped. "This is burgundy. We need red. Who ever heard of an awards show without a red carpet?"

The speakers crackled to life. "Check, check. Two, two, two..." Then a lively tune began playing. On the stage, a line of Dwarves began dancing under the ministrations of a blonde Elf who was moving in time with the dancers. "...and one, and two, and spin..." A blue bearded Dwarf tripped on an electric cord and toppled over, knocking over three of her...his...her companions. "No, no, no!" screamed the Elf. "To the left, the left!" A klieg light crashed to the stage. The Elf turned to Mithadan, causing his impeccably coiffed hair to wave attractively. "I can't work like this," he screamed. "You promised me professionals!" Mithadan smiled and nodded. Under his breath, he said "Shut up Vogonwë."

A soldier wearing the black and silver livery of the tower ran up. "Mithadan?" he asked. Member number 4 nodded. The guard passed over a letter, then spoke. "The Hobbiton Garden Club is threatening to protest unless a retraction is run about Marileangorifurnimaluim's 'Hobbit Sex Ed' article. They are threatening violence..." At that moment, an explosion was heard. Through one of the windows, a plume of smoke could be seen and chanting could be heard. "Unfair to Hobbits, Unfair to Hobbits...!"

A second guard ran up. "Mister Mithadan, sir," he said. "The King would like to...see you...immediately."

Mithadan covered his face with his hands and slumped in his chair. "I am never, ever doing this again..." he muttered. He looked up at the wrecked stage and the line of people waiting to speak with him. Then he shook his head and reached for a bottle of aspirin. "I can't believe the show is in three days..."