Good News and Bad News

My Dearest Kendrah,

It was so good having you all here for the holiday! I had a lovely time. It was a bit disappointing that Merry and Pippin didn't arrive New Year's Eve until after your son had gone to bed. It's probably for the best...it appears they had been drinking heavily and had run out of pipeweed. I gave them a pack of clovies, made certain they had a designated driver (poor Fatty...I get the impression he's always the DD) and sent them on their way. I think they planned to stop by Gregor's in search of nice stout.

The good news is...we've recovered our dwarves! This time we sent Imrahil to deal with his Sullen Majesty of Mirkwood. I figured they'd get along wonderfully. And I was right. Not only did Thranduil admit to his error in judgement in imprisoning the original Royal Envoy, he came through with some mithril! Imrahil says he mumbled something about "no use saving it for that ungrateful son of his" and handed over all we needed. I must remember to send a thank-you note. Nothing against Imrahil's diplomatic skill, but I suspect the three buckets of frozen strawberry daiquiri we sent along helped with convincing. (I won't even begin to describe the issues involved in manipulating the space-time continuum that allowed the daiqiris to travel all the way to Mirkwood still frozen. Suffice it to say, even Mithrandir was impressed!) So Imrahil, dwarves and mithril have all returned safely and I thought we could have a little peace. Alas, it was not to be...

On to the bad news. As you know, Aragorn was a bit unsure of Rook from all the stories I'd been telling him, but they seemed to be getting along well enough. Until Rook was about to leave. The horror of the moment has made me forget exactly what they were talking about, but suddenly I hear Rook exclaim "Elrond is a mudblood." The room got deathly quiet. "I beg your pardon," says Aragorn, "What was that you said?" "Elrond is a mudblood."

It was one of those horrible moments when time stands still, then seems to move in slow motion (like when the Uruk-hai are shooting Boromir full of arrows). Aragorn unfolds himself from the depths of the futon, draws himself up to full height and starts advancing on Rook. (Fortunately, he wasn't armed) I finally unfreeze from my shocked stupor and step in between them. "Now dearest, remember, he's a guest in our home ...rules of hospitality and all..." Aragorn looks at him: "Perhaps you would like to explain your remark, Master Rook." I know immediately that this would be a bad idea. "Oh my..look at the time...I bet it's raining in Kentucky, don't you have to be going now Rook, dear?", I babble at them. They both stare at me like I've gone mad, but Rook checks the clock and says yes he needs to go because he needs to stop at the Warhol. So he escapes, all limbs still attached and not bleeding at all.

Aragorn is furious! Ranted all night about how if a guest gravely insults a close family member or ally, the host should be allowed to skewer him without having to worry about invoking a dreadful doom for inhospitality. I did my my best to calm him, but he's still terribly offended. He's decided Rook is not welcome in the White City, then pulled the old "If you still want to see him in your world after what he said to me, go ahead, do what you want!" Sigh. I don't blame him for being furious, heck, even I was a bit taken aback! But I'm willing to let it slide (just this once) since Rook is so new to our fantasy world. Mark my words, no good can come of this!

Must go throw a load in the washer and finish putting away the Christmas decorations. I'll talk to soon.

Your Affectionate Friend,
Corwynne