Dafydd wandered down the corridors of HQ almost at random, lost in thought. This is starting to feel like a pattern, he mused. All those jobs with Vemi, and now this. Are they trying to keep Selene off missions permanently?
He had been just settling down to relax in the DOGA Response Centre when a message had come for him. Apparently, he had been selected for a one off mission in the Labyrinth fandom, to kill... something.
That had been the entire message, apart from a note telling him where to go and who to meet. And another note telling him Selene wasn't going. No explanations, nothing. Just a simple statement.
Dafydd sighed. This train of thought wasn't getting him anywhere, except… stopping in front of a random door, he glanced at the number. Yes, the laws of HQ had once again brought him to where he needed to be. He knocked.
There was a thump, some muttering that most people probably wouldn’t have heard, and then the door opened and a black-haired woman leant against the doorjamb. She looked up at him challengingly, and then her eyes widened and a wary expression appeared on her face. “Um, hi?”
“Hi.” Dafydd glanced down at the scrap of paper in his hand. “Would you be, uh, Constant Sims?”
The woman blinked. "Ah, no. Constance Sims, possibly. If this is about the Mountain Dew, I didn't even know Mylissa was in the room--"
"It's not," Dafydd said. "It's about a mission."
"Oh." Constance shook her head. "Then you must be… Daffy-something-someone. Or something." She shook her head slightly.
Dafydd frowned, and looked down again. "I think our consoles have a lot to answer for." He looked back up and tried out a smile. "Yes, hello. Dafydd Illian, DOGA. I've been told to come and see you about something to do with Labyrinth. I don't suppose you have any details on that?"
"Er, kinda. Um. Though I don't actually know this fandom very well at all.” Constance bit her lip. “I'm in Lord of the Rings,” she added, her tone suggesting an apology. “But... yeah, there's a fic." She stepped back a bit, and nodded at her console. "You can come in, see the report…"
Dafydd’s frown returned. "They assigned two Arda agents to this thing? Are they mad?" He paused, then laughed harshly. "No, but they're trying to make sure we are." Shaking his head, he walked into the room and looked at the screen. After a moment, his face paled. "Sweet burning stars..."
Constance followed him across the room and glanced over his shoulder. "Er, that bad, is it? Like I said, I don't really know the canon..."
Dafydd shook his head slowly. "I can't say I know it too well either, but... well, just look at the grammar section."
Constance looked, and flinched. "Ye Valar. This is going to be traumatic, isn't it?" She grimaced and grabbed her remote portal activator. "Don't answer that."
"Wasn't going to." Dafydd glanced into his bag. “I think I’ve got everything I-- hmm." He bent over the console and tapped the screen. "Intelligence say we’ll probably have to exorcise Sarah. I haven't actually had to do an exorcism before."
Constance blinked. "Er, bleh. That was part of my training… let me think.” She closed her eyes and hummed softly to herself.
Dafydd took the opportunity to study her more closely. She was human, probably in her early twenties, her hair long, dark, and intriguingly wavy. She was clearly nervous around him, but the very first look she'd given him suggested she was more confident than she seemed right then.
Constance’s eyes snapped open, and Dafydd looked away quickly. “We need a copy of the movie. A DVD, or something." She shrugged and picked up her backpack. "Which'd be at the Canon Library. Come a- um, should we head that way, then?"
“We have a Canon Library?” Dafydd’s lip twisted. “You mean I didn’t have to buy all those books for myself? Why does no-one tell me these things?” He coughed and nodded at Constance. “Good plan. Lead on.”
"Yes, well, I only found it by accident. Had too much Bleepka, went wandering HQ..." She smiled wryly and slung her backpack over one shoulder. "'kay, then." She stepped out the door and hesitated in the corridor, glancing around. "Stupid grey walls… er... let's try that way."
Dafydd raised an eyebrow. "You don’t actually know where it is, do you? You just… stumbled across it one time?”
"Yeah, pretty much." Constance looked cheerfully unconcerned. "Nothing stays put here anyway." She started down the hallway, humming quietly, then glanced at Dafydd. "So, er... you work LotR as well?"
He wandered along beside her. "Yep, that's right. Well, technically we could work anywhere - there's only two agents in DOGA, three if you count the missing one, so we cover everything - but I'm-" He cut himself off, and re-thought his statement. "I've got a... rather intimate knowledge of Arda."
Constance blinked. "I see. Well, fun, then. You said DOGA before, that would be..?."
"... oh, that's right, you wouldn't have heard of us. Department of Geographical Aberrations." He grinned, slightly embarrassed. "We burn things."
"Fire! Pretty! Sounds like a good job."
“Well, if you ever get kicked out of-”
“Shh!” Constance held up a finger. “Now look what you’ve done, I’ve lost my train of thought.” She frowned. “Um. So, you burn things, I kill things, we both work LotR... and they are sending us on this mission, why?" She sighed. "Dumb weeds."
Dafydd shrugged, glancing down a side corridor as they passed. "I'd assume the Labyrinth crew are all busy - there's only a few of them - so they just picked names out of a hat." He blinked. "No, wait, I remember. The 'fic says that the Labyrinth is in Albion. And makes Cymru out to be a different place to Wales."
"Oh, ouch."
“Well, yes, but ‘ouch’ wasn’t my point.” Dafydd tapped his flashpatch. “Those two together are definitely a geographical aberration, and I’m most recently from Wales.” He pursed his lips. “Doesn’t explain you, though. Uh, no offense.”
“Lots taken.” Constance grinned and stopped in the middle of the hall. “I’m here for my general knowledge, obviously. Like this.” She kicked the blank grey wall and frowned. "It's upped security since I last came through. I can't imagine why."
She looked at the wall contemplatively, then slid her backpack off her shoulder, and prepared to swing it. Instantly, the panel slid open. She grinned triumphantly, and stepped into the dark room.
"That was not necessary," said a disapproving voice out of the darkness.
"Oh, quiet," she said absently. "Labyrinth DVD. Exorcism." Something dropped at her feet. She shook her head, bent to pick it up. "Thanks, then."
Dafydd stared at her. "Er, Constance? What exactly runs this place?"
She paused in the act of shoving the DVD into her backpack. "I'm not quite sure. I think... it's better to just not ask."
There was a long-suffering sigh, from the same direction as the disembodied voice earlier. Constance glanced at Dafydd, and smiled slightly. "Yeah."
Dafydd frowned, then peered into the darkness, trying to see for himself. After a minute he turned away, defeated. Shivering, he stepped back into the corridor.
She followed him, and the panel slid hastily closed behind her. "It doesn't like me, whatever it is. I'm not quite sure why." She smiled brightly. "But yeah, now we should be set."
Dafydd nodded. "Set, right..." As he followed her back through the myriad grey corridors to her response centre, he muttered, "Great. Another psycho partner. Where do they get these people from?"
She pretended not to hear him as she wandered down the halls, looking for her door. She paused suddenly, backed up several feet, and smiled. "'kay, here we are..." She pushed her door open and stepped inside.
He followed her through and shut the door. "Here we are indeed. I assume you've got a remote activator and such?"
She nodded, and picked up the activator. "Er... stupid machine." She bit her lip, fiddled with it for a moment, then grinned. "Right, there it goes." She nodded at the portal. "Once more unto the breach, and so on." She put the activator into her backpack, took a deep breath, and stepped through.
Taking one last look around the response centre, Dafydd followed...
... into a pitch black nothingness, through which echoed the Disclaimer: I own nothing except what I own. The rest belong Jim Henson and co. This is my 1st fan fic so please bear with me. Any mistakes are mine.
"No, we will not bear with you," he muttered. "Not when you claim that either yourself or Jim Henson owns Wales.”
Constance blinked. "That'd be odd, to say the least." She glared up at the sky. "And the mistakes are many."
"Aye, far too many," replied Dafydd, then blinked as a frozen Sarah, holding a cup filled with a large circular hole in the ground, ran past, flat on her back. "Tears of Nienna," he groaned, "this description is bad.”
Constance stared. "What the freak was that?" She hastily glanced at the Words, and winced. "Oh dear Eru... commas are important."
"And so are tenses," Dafydd added. The wording had made it appear as though everything was happening at the same time, so Sarah, Jareth and Hoggle whirled around like ice skaters in a kaleidoscope.
"Yes..." Constance watched in horrified fascination, then she blinked in alarm, as there momentarily appeared to be multiple Jareths. "Dear Eru, this is why we have apostrophes." She shook her head and sighed. "One of that... guy is quite enough."
Dafydd tilted his head. "Not a Jareth fan, then?"
She stared at him. "You must be kidding me. Have you seen the tights?" She shuddered.
"... good point." He turned back to watch as Jareth ordered Sarah to be exhausted, then the agent keeled over as a location shift took them into the second chapter. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he muttered, "I hate that."
Constance nodded quickly. "It's evil." She glanced at the Words and winced. "The moon is shining like a beacon of hope. Ohhhh dear." She looked steadily at the ground, shielding her eyes. "... that sounds like it'd be painful, okay?"
Dafydd nodded. “Hope shouldn’t be visible. There is a good reason for this. It burns.” Then he blinked. “I guess we’re lucky it’s only ordinary moonlight that’s filling the ground.” He stared at the pale silver soil, which was glowing faintly.
Constance stared at it for a moment, then closed her eyes. "That? Is just wrong." She sighed, then blinked. "'Only they're myth and legend?' Is that denying the existence of the Tuatha de Danann, or..." She shook her head. "I'm confused." She glanced up at the approach of a new character. "Oh, how fun."
Dafydd looked over. "This is the one we get to kill, right?"
Constance nodded distractedly. "Yeah, that's him - Owain, apparently. Who's doing the killing, then?"
Dafydd considered. "Well, you have to exorcise Jareth and Sarah, so I guess I wi-- ai!" The agent curled up in a ball as Jareth's eyes exploded out of their sockets and flew up to land on a moon made from a precious metal.
Constance stared, her mouth hanging open. "Well, that's... interesting. 'His eyes landed upon the silver moon' indeed. Dear Nienna, this writing is dangerous." She patted Dafydd's arm hesitantly. "Um... Bleeprin?"
Still curled up, Dafydd nodded, and took the proffered tablets. After a moment, when Jareth's eyeballs had returned to their proper place, he stood up again, shakily. Seeing Constance's look, he said, "Sorry, I just have a real problem with eyeballs."
Constance nodded. "I see. And don't blame you, in this case..." She glanced at the Words. "Oh, fun, Sarah ‘bested’ Jareth and won his heart. How sweet."
"Sickeningly so," Dafydd agreed. Then something occurred to him, and he pulled out his notepad. "Need a charge list," he said, though his tone implied need a distraction. He started writing, leaving Constance to watch the 'fic.
Constance watched him scribbling for a moment, then turned her attention back to the fic. Then she blinked, as the blood drained from the new character's face, ‘almost as if someone had taken a knife to his throat and slashed it from ear to ear’. "Whoa, that's... graphic," she said mildly. She shrugged and glanced back at Dafydd. "So -- how long until we do the exorcisms?"
Dafydd glanced up. "Well, I really need a Geographical Aberration, so we either wait for Jareth to declare himself King of Albion, thereby implying that Albion is in the Underground, or we wait an extra half chapter after that for an explicit statement of Albion being in the Underground, coupled with use of Cymru and Eire as mystical realms." He shrugged. "The latter might be easiest to make stick.”
"Um, ouch. Yeah, the last does sound best... right, then." Constance looked at Jareth and Owain, who were babbling about ancient magic, and sighed. "This'll be fun."
Dafydd nodded resignedly. "At least it's only three more chapters." Then he blinked at a small furry thing that appeared on the floor. "That would be Owain's asked, would it?"
Constance stared at it. "Probably, yes. Interesting." She looked at Jareth and Owain, still babbling away. "...only three more chapters."
"Only three. Three. One plus two. Just three ones..." Dafydd blinked. "Dear Eru, it's driven me mad already. Focus, Dafydd, focus… oh look, we’ve got a nice piece of Generic Folklore in the form of a Barguest. Fantastic."
Constance let out a long breath. "Um... fun. Poor murdered canon." She glanced at the Words. "...that thing sounds like it was nasty. Good thing a Mysterious Person killed it, because I wouldn't have wanted to get near it." She blinked. "Right, what is The Elemental Court, and why is Jareth calling it?"
"More importantly, when did Jareth acquire a telephone system?" Dafydd wondered. "But what the Elemental Court is, is our audience when we finally get to kill this mess."
Constance laughed shortly. "I like this court." She paused. "...want it sooner." She glanced up, startled, as people started screaming.
Dafydd blinked, and looked up himself. “Aren’t we outside? Isn’t all that’s above us, you know, the sky? Oh, blast, end of chapter.” Quickly, before the story could move them, he pulled out the Remote Activator and flicked open a portal to the next chapter.
Jareth's actions caused the creature to turn towards him. The shock was written on both Jareth face but as quick as it came it was gone. Jareth spoke first arrogance laced his features even lacing his voice. "Who do you think you are?"
"I am who I am. King Jareth."
The second speaker was a strange creature with a mouth in its chest and a hole in its nose – along with shallow checks across its face. Dafydd blinked. “That is claiming to be Jareth?”
Constance stared, stepped back involuntarily. "King Jareth, as opposed to normal Jareth. Even the tights are preferable to that, I think."
"I will leave in piece, as soon I have what I come for," it said.
Constance tilted her head to one side. "I won't even try to figure that one out. Oh, it wants Sarah. Such shock?"
“Shock indeed,” responded Dafydd, then winced. “King Jareth wants Sarah. Do you know how bad that sounds?”
She smacked her forehead. "Thank you for that mental picture. From the bottom of my heart, thank you." She glanced at the Words and winced. "Especially as it doesn't look like it's too inaccurate. Protective!Jareth. How sweet."
“Muahaha,” said Dafydd, but his heart really wasn’t in it. Having to watch the creature was making him feel ill, and he concluded once again that Morgoth had created badfic for the sole purpose of annoying him. He didn't get a chance to pursue the train of thought any further, as a very odd woman suddenly appeared. “Constance,” he muttered, “is it me, or does that woman have far too may weapons to be able to use?”
Constance glanced over the woman. "No, it's not just you." She eyed the sword, dagger, and spears wistfully. "Shiny. Can I steal them?" She paused briefly. "Yes, I'll shut up now. And...Eru. Her eyes hold death in their depths. I really don't want to think about that."
Dafydd considered. "Well, she turns into a crow, but nothing is said of her clothes. So I suspect if we want them to, the weapons will just stay there. But I'm having the spear she uses on the monster." Seeing her look, he added, "I collect Suvian weapons."
Constance grinned. "That sounds like a fun hobby..." She watched with vague disinterest as the woman walked up to King Jareth Version 2.
“Yes, fun it is. Except,” Dafydd sighed, “they won’t let me use them on missions. Oh, redundancy,” he added, pulling out the charge list again.
"Aw, evil." She glanced up, watched as the woman killed the creature.
"I am known by many, and I'm known by few," the woman said, and Constance winced.
"And that is supposed to mean...what?"
“I am Ringwinner and Luckbearer," Dafydd added, "and I am Barrel-rider."
The lady changed into a crow and flew out the window, and Constance smiled faintly; the clothes--and weapons--had indeed stayed behind. She wandered over to the heap of clothing and picked up the sword, dagger, and remaining spear. She spent a moment debating how to carry them, then sighed and put the dagger in her backpack, and stood there holding the spear and sword awkwardly.
Dafydd walked over to the body of King Jareth and pulled the spear out. He weighed it in his hand, nodded in satisfaction, then glanced up at the Words and paled. “It’s the sappy Jareth/Sarah scene next... I really do not want to see this...” He looked over at Constance. “Can we please skip a chapter?”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded quickly. "That sounds like an extremely good idea, yes...I don't even like Jareth/Sarah."
“Luckily, there’s only one charge we need from it – making the Underground be in Albion, or possibly vice versa.” He wrote it down, and then opened up a portal to Chapter Five, the Elemental Court, and the end of their mission.
"Some fics..." Constance sighed, and stepped through the portal. She blinked. "Stonehenge. Fun." She looked around at the many creatures gathered outside the circle, and then at the 'four rulers of the underground' standing inside of it. "Four of them? Did I miss the other three in the movie? Right, then..."
“Mm, no, not Stonehenge,” corrected Dafydd absently. “Just a circle that is compared to Stonehenge thrice."
Constance glanced at the Words, shrugged. "Fine, never been to Stonehenge. It was an understandable mistake... really..."
"Oh, absolutely understandable," Dafydd agreed, "whereas I was there when-- hmm." He pressed his lips together and fell silent.
"Oh, is that an English accent?" Constance asked. "I thought it was Scottish or something."
"Welsh," Dafydd said, raising an eyebrow. "Hence the name? I lived there for… well, a while." He shook his head and nodded out at the scene. "I’m intrigued by the way this court has only been called once before, yet everyone seems to know what to do. Do you think they had a dress rehearsal?”
Constance laughed a bit, and sat down on the ground to watch. "I mean, you would, right?" She waved a hand at the stone circle. "So this whole pilfered mythology, Wales and Cymru and Albion, Stonehenge knockoffs and all, that must hit a bit close to home?"
Dafydd blinked as a laser shot across the sky. "It's not great, but it isn't as though I started out in Wales. My history is a lot… longer than that."
"How much longer?" Constance asked. "I mean, you don't look a whole lot older than me."
Dafydd laughed and studied the Words. "You'll see," he said with a positively evil grin. "I have a plan. Wait here, but be ready to kill when I say so.” With that, he rushed off around the circle.
Constance blinked, and nodded dazedly. She glanced down at the sword and spear, and set the spear down on the ground next to her. Then she waited.
Down below, the four characters claiming to be rulers of the Underground spoke in turn, giving their titles, calling upon an element, and making an utterly pointless statement. Jareth came third, and after him was one named Laeg.
"I Laeg, Ruler of Éire. Call to the Water, without whom all life would die. Danu, protect us, your children, guide us and bless us in our hour. So mote it be."
Then Dafydd stepped into the circle. “And I, Maglor, ruler by default of all Endor, call you all a bunch of UnCanon weaklings who couldn’t rule your way out of a paper bag. I mean, sure, you’re good with the petty stuff, but what would you do if the Dark Lord sent out a dragon? Run and hide, I bet. But I digress. Could Owain... hmm, you don’t seem to have a last name, so could Owain who has been tagging along after Jareth please step forward?”
Everyone stared, and nobody more than Constance. The character Owain, who had featured so little in the story that he had no will of his own, stepped forward into the light. Dafydd's smile was even more evil than the one before.
“Excellent. Owain, in the name of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, I charge you with having delusions of owning the United Kingdom and all associated mythology, abuse of every law of spelling, punctuation, grammar, and physics within reach, relentlessly creating freaky monsters deliberately and by accident, turning whole actual countries into parts of the Underground, and really, really winding me up. Do you have any last words? Well, frankly, I don’t care. Constance!”
Eyes wide, Constance scrambled to her feet and ran into the circle. She hesitated for just a moment, then hacked Owain's head off. She dropped her sword and started fumbling in her backpack for the Labyrinth DVD. "Jareth and Sarah..." she mumbled, and glanced up.
Jareth was standing nearby, gaping. Constance winced at the OOC'ness, then hit him upside the head with the DVD case. "Out, foul Suvian spirit! Depart! The power of... er... wait, the power of who?"
Dafydd frowned. “Jim Henson and George Lucas, I believe. Well, Lucas was the producer... I think... probably better just to stick with Henson.”
Constance nodded quickly and resumed beating Jareth with the case. "Out! The power of Henson compels thee! No, really, leave. Now! Get thee out! And such!" She blinked as a ghostly figure stepped out of Jareth. She shook her head rapidly. "It didn't look like that in training…" She grabbed her new sword and slashed it through the figure, which dissolved into mist.
“I wouldn’t know,” commented Dafydd. Then he dashed out of the circle, returning a moment later with Sarah in tow. “I don’t think she’s recovered from seeing you beating lover-boy there, so it should be easy.”
Constance nodded, shoved her sword into Dafydd's hands, and started whacking Sarah upside the head with her DVD. "And yeah, evil-spirit-thing, out of Sarah too. Get thee out, power of Henson compels thee, etc... leave! Go! Out, foul spirit! And other similar phrases!"
She sighed as another semi-transparent figure stepped away from Sarah's body, grabbed her sword back from Dafydd, and killed it as well.
Dafydd nodded. “Very good.” Then he looked out at the assembled denizens of the Underworld, who were looking as though they were just coming out of a trance. “Thank you, good people, for your time. I’m afraid we must be going now.” He leaned down and grabbed Jareth by the arm, then opened a portal to the Labyrinth with his other hand. “Constance, get Sarah,” he ordered, and dragged the dazed Goblin King through.
Constance grabbed Sarah's wrist and dragged her through. Keeping a tight grip, she shrugged at Dafydd. "Need to portal her home now, yes?"
"What's that?" Dafydd glanced back at her, his body still held in the regal manner he had adopted on entering the circle. "Oh, yes, yes." He pushed Jareth to the floor, and said, "Stay with what you know, Goblin King. Trying to meddle in politics can get you killed. I should know." Then he opened another portal, and stepped through without looking back.
Constance blinked, shook her head slightly, and pulled Sarah through that portal. "Right, no place like home, Sarah dear." She glanced around. "Now we need to get back to HQ... please..."
“Yes, of course, HQ,” replied Dafydd. Whacking the Remote Activator against a wall, he muttered, “Work, or I drop you into Angband.” Obediently, a portal flickered open, and he gestured for Constance to go through.
She laughed a bit and stepped through, then glanced down at the sword she still clutched in one hand. "Screwit, left the spear there... bleh, ah well."
"I've still got mine," Dafydd said absently, then frowned. "What did I... oh. Oh." He walked swiftly over to the wall and started slamming his head against it, muttering, "Six years, six years without Maglor..." over and over.
Constance stared at him, and then nodded. "Yes. Maglor. You are going to explain the Maglor thing."
Dafydd winced. "Er. That fic really wound me up, and it seemed like a good way of letting off steam."
Constance slowly raised an eyebrow. "So you're not Maglor?"
"No. I mean, yes." Dafydd paused, seemingly at a loss. “I mean, hello. Maglor, second son of Fëanor, at your service. Yes, that Maglor, and yes, that Fëanor. I expect you’re wondering how I got here, yes?”
Constance blinked rapidly, and looked at him slightly warily. "Yes, yes I am. Do tell."
He looked around for a moment, then pulled out a copy of the Silmarillion from his backpack. He opened it close to the end, to a full-page painting of a figure throwing a glowing gem into the sea under a red sky.
"'He came never back among the people of the Elves,'" he read, tapping the picture. “I never died. I just wandered the shores of Middle-earth for... I don’t know how many years. Thousands. Eventually, somewhere near what was once the Shire, I helped found a country which eventually became known as Wales.
“I've used many names, but in Wales I became Dafydd Illian. I hated--" He stopped, took a breath. "I found I hated the bloodline of Beren and Luthien, of Earendil and Elwing, for stealing the Silmaril and keeping it from us. I tracked them down, and found there was only one descendent left -- a girl named Suzeanna Mariana."
Constance's eyebrows rose. "You were from a badfic?"
"I don't know," Dafydd said. "That's what they said, but it felt - feels - real to me, real history, my history. I confronted Suzeanna, and she…" He bit his lip, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “She smashed my harp. Just took it and smashed it in front of me. And she sent me flying into a plothole, and a pair of PPC agents showed up and told me I was a character, a mistake, and that I should join up with them. And I did, and I'm good at it, and there's all the fire you can eat, but… I just want my harp back. But it's gone."
He blinked back the tears and looked up at the silent Constance. “Yeah, you can laugh now.”
Constance shook her head quickly, and glanced around awkwardly. "No, no... oh, gah." She stepped towards him and patted his arm tentatively. "Er... evil girl." She glanced down and pulled her hand from his arm, shrugged.
Dafydd nodded. “She was evil, and now she’s dead. And that's good. And someday I'll find a new harp on a mission and forget about her. But, irritatingly,” a hint of a wry smile tugged at his mouth, “very few Suvians seem to use such instruments. And even fewer also have a Geographical Aberration.”
"... yeah, that's inconvenient." Constance smiled faintly. "If I ever get sent after a Suvian who uses a harp..." She shrugged again and fell silent, looking around the room uncomfortably.
Dafydd smiled faintly. “Thank you. I... thank you. But, uh... don’t mention any of this? To anyone?”
She shook her head quickly. "Oh, I won't."
He nodded. “Thanks. I don’t want it getting out just yet.” He looked vaguely around the room for a few moments, then said, “I should probably be going.”
"Yeah, probably..." She glanced towards the door and shrugged.
“Right, then.” He wandered over to the door, then wandered back and picked up the spear he had stolen. “Can’t forget this...” He walked back to the door and opened it. “Well... bye, then. I’ll... probably see you around somewhere. Maybe. Or not.”
She nodded and waved. "Yeah. Maybe... 'bye, then. Er... nice working with you... yeah, 'bye."
“Yeah... same. And... good work out there.” He paused, and blinked. “But I can’t stand around in doorways all the time, so... bye.” And he turned and walked off down the grey corridor.
Archivist’s Note: Following the tradition of leaving Selene to look after Thanduril, Dafydd was sent off to work with Agent Constant Constance Sims. Why? How should I know what the Flowers had in mind? They only went halfway through the story before killing it; yes, they could have gone further, but Upstairs frowns on agents taking flamethrowers to them. ~Terri Ryan, DOGA Archivist
by Chillydown
Published: 19 Jul 2004 (original) / 15 Apr 2023 (revised)
Timeline: Jun 2004
Disclaimer: The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Two Worlds United belongs to Chillydown, and is quoted, paraphrased and dissected here for the purposes of parody and humour; no claim of ownership is made by Huinesoron or any other members of the PPC. This mission was written by Huinesoron and Kaitlyn.
Huinesoron's Note: This is a somewhat revised version of "Two Worlds United". The original version can still be read here.