Back to Huinesoron’s Webplex

For the longest time, this was the only DOGA mission without a mission note. The original was lost in the 'Al and Death' site crash, and no trace of the story has been found since. When I came across this, I decided to rectify that. Unfortunately, I don't have very much to say, except to point out that Dafydd really likes that ring now. ~Terri Ryan, DOGA Archivist

Daughter of Desire

by Unknown Author

After saying goodbye to Dann, the guy from Sufficiently Advanced Technology who had come in to fix their console, Dafydd slumped in a chair. “Well,” he said, “it’ll be nice not to have to get new eardrums every time we get a call.”

“It would also be nice to actually get some time in between calls,” muttered Selene, glaring at the console and uttering a silent prayer for an hours sleep.

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!] Unfortunately, the Laws of Narrative Comedy, not to mention the ever-present Ironic Overpower, don’t hold with that sort of thing.

Selene screamed, and Dafydd quickly leapt up and ducked behind the chair in case another lightning storm was forthcoming. He still wasn’t sure what Selene was, but when she was throwing lightning around she was dangerous. Fortunately, this time she controlled her rage, and stalked over to the console to read the ‘fic summary.

“Oh, lovely,” she said, enunciating every word with the clarity of pure, cold rage. “Elves enslave a race. A species of witches and warlocks. A Ring that holds the creator’s power. The daughter of the Witch-King. And a pretty land in Angmar.”

“Interesting,” said Dafydd, standing and moving to the equipment store. “Shall we take matches, or won’t we need them?”

She glanced over at him quizzically, her rage momentarily forgotten. “Why wouldn’t we need them?”

Dafydd sighed. “Nevermind. Cwm on, here’s your bag. Let’s get this over with.”

The blue doorway opened, deposited the agents in a tree, and closed again. Selene groaned. “I think there is a branch through my spine.”

“Shh,” whispered Dafydd. “The ‘Sue is right below us. Making a speech from a branch, it seems.”

“Ooh.” Selene sat up, or the closest possible in a tree. “Is she going to fall off?”

“It appears not,” replied Dafydd. Then he stared down at their target. “She is weird.”

Looking at her, Selene had to agree. The ‘Sue’s hair ‘flowed down her back like a waterfall’. This meant that, although it started off black, it quickly turned transparent, and was making a lot of noise. The ground below her was already soaked. She did indeed look like a god. Ulmo, to be precise. Especially with the sky reflecting around her head. The utter impossibility of that made Selene’s head ache so much that she had to look away.

Then all the people below the tree floated up to the level of the branch. “What the…” Selene squinted at the words. Ah. There it was. Despite being up in a tree, the ‘Sue had ‘stared desperately around’ at the people. It was almost painful how literal the ficverse could be, sometimes.

Selene listened with one ear to the ‘Sue ranting on, until she was distracted by Dafydd muttering to himself. “Impossible hair, stupid descriptions, grandstanding… oh, and now she has her own imitation One Ring. She’s really stacking up these charges.”

“Don’t forget the fact that their power appears to be linked to their homeland,” whispered Selene, “and that… oh, Eru.”

These people were immortals, yes, but gave the appearance of humans, except for their leader, who shone like a star in the wrong part of the sky. Their simpler appearance had led the elves to believe many ages ago that they were unworthy, and had taken them to be their slaves.  But the elves did not know that these were a people of magic, and would be much more powerful than any elf, if their power was returned to them

“Oh Eru indeed,” said Dafydd. “Where shall I start?”

“The ability of a star to shine in the wrong part of the sky?” suggested Selene. After a moment’s thought, she added, “Then you can go on to slandering the entire elvish race by causing them to keep slaves, making things happen ‘many ages’ ago when there have only been four – three of the Sun and one of the Stars – since the elves awoke, and creating an Uncanonical species with Ainu-esque ‘magic’.”

Dafydd nodded. “Gottit,” he said, and scribbled in his notepad again.

The sun came up, and all the UnCanons fled, for no apparent reason. Then another one walked out of the tree and sat down next to the ‘Sue.

“Wha’?” muttered Selene. “Where did he come from?”

“Doriath, I believe,” replied Dafydd, without looking up. When his partner looked at him, he said, “His name is Daeron. The only Daeron I know of was a really annoying title-stealing minstrel in –”

“Doriath. Yes, you said. Oh, and her name is Sairalindë. What a pretty name. Does it mean anything?”

“Yes,” said Dafydd. “It means ‘I want to call myself ‘Saira’, so I’ll add a random elvish – or more likely elfish – word to it’. Lindë actually means ‘singer’.”

“Another charge, then?” asked Selene.

“Of course.”

They sat through the pair of uncanons having a discussion that practically screamed ‘foreshadowing’. Then, as the two departed, Selene said, “Is that it? The first chapter done?”

“Alas, no,” Dafydd replied. “We’ve still got a scene in –”

The pair found themselves inside the Evil!Slavekeeping!Elf’s room, and quickly hid behind a piece of Generic Furniture (TM). Dafydd wrote down another charge – giving an elf a non-elven name – and then sighed.

“’Sue goes off in a sulk,” he whispered to Selene, “while Mistress here apparently has a bath. Neither prospect sounds particularly attractive to watch. Shall we just portal forward twenty minutes?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” replied Selene, “but here’s a better one. There’s only three lines after she gets back, so why not portal ahead to the next chapter?”

Dafydd considered. “Yes, that would work,” he said. Reaching into his pack, he grabbed the remote activator, set the co-ordinates and pressed the button. The portal opened in a flash of blue light, evoking a scream from the Evil!Elf. Dafydd risked a quick glance over the Furniture towards here, and then ducked again, blushing furiously.

“She’s in the bath,” he muttered to Selene. “I don’t think she’s particularly happy with us being here.”

“Then let’s go,” Selene replied.

“Yes. Let’s. Please.”

“A fortnight…”

“When the full moon rises…”

“The lock shall be broken…”


“Times are tough.”

They had dropped out into another gathering of the Uncanonicals, who seemed to have acquired a habit of only speaking in sentence fragments.

Admittedly, it was Selene who said ‘times are tough’ causing Dafydd to look at her oddly. Selene just smiled and mouthed ‘Webcomic’ as the strange beings continued to play their parts of background noise. Fortunately, this did not last for long, and soon gave way to a scene in which Sairalindë tried to convince Daeron to steal her ring back.

“Where is this place, Mordor?” asked Dafydd after a few seconds. “I don’t recall any race in Arda which always italicizes place names.”

“Ah, well,” replied Selene, “it’s probably a witch thing.” Then she sighed, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, hear the Angst about her father. Do we need to be here?”

Dafydd squinted at the Words. “Hmm. Not sure. We already know she’s duplicated the Ring, and we don’t want to know about her lovely home-which-she-misses-so-much, I’m sure. So no. Let’s skip out the next fortnight. I’m not entirely sure it would pass for us anyway.” Selene looked at him quizzically, and he quoted from the Words. “ ‘A fortnight came and went, as it will when you are immortal’. That seems to indicate that fortnights don’t come and go if you are mortal, and hence we wouldn’t get anywhere.”

Selene blinked in surprise. “Riiiight. Well. Let’s portal forward, then.”

“Yes, let’s,” replied Dafydd, and started muttering to himself. As he did so, Selene watched the couple in the clearing. Just as Mary-Sue launched into her long angsty speech, there was a faint ‘twang’ and the portal opened. The agents wasted no time in stepping through.

Dafydd had misjudged the timescale, and as such the agents landed back in Mirkwood just as Saira pulled out her sword and shouted, “Narmmë mirima! (We are free [I think])”

“Well,” commented Selene, “we seem to have underestimated her. I’ve never heard anyone who can pronounce two different types of brackets.”

“She could do with being a bit more certain, but yes,” agreed Dafydd, and then added, “I do wonder why they let her keep the sword, though. It says she had been forbidden to use it, but wouldn’t you stop your slaves having any weapons at all?”

“Sue logic, Dafydd,” pointed out Selene. Her partner nodded, and then jogged off after the ‘Sue and her boyfriend. Selene looked around to check nothing was happening, and followed.

She reached the king’s study just as ‘Sue put on her wonderful shiny ring and glowed. Selene rolled her eyes, and looked around for Dafydd. He wasn’t hard to spot.

The Agent was leaning against a wall, watching Sairalindë like a hawk. More specifically, he was watching her hand, as she used the ring first to cause a book to fly, and then to make ropes tie up the Mirkwood guards and knock down King Thranduil.

Noticing her gaze, Dafydd looked over. “I want that ring,” he said.

Selene rolled her eyes. “Dafydd, it’s a ‘Sue weapon. It’s a total canon-distorter. There is no way Upstairs would let you keep it.”

“Upstairs wouldn’t have to know,” he replied, eyes gleaming. Noticing what was happening in the corridor, he added, “No time now – ‘Sue’s just done something else impossible.”

Selene glanced at the Words:

<The rope sprang again from her hands, knocking the king backward. He protested through his gag.

“And where did the gag come from? Oh, wait, I forgot – this place is riddled with plotholes right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if the spiders walked along singing Avril Lavigne songs.”

“My point exactly,” replied Dafydd. Then he added, “End of chapter coming up. It involves a time/space skip, and I think we’ve got a geographical contraction to boot – Mirkwood to Angmar in a single day.”

“Let’s portal it, shall we?”

He nodded. “Oh, but first…”

“I prefer borrowed,” said a voice. Selene looked around.

“Who was that? She asked. Dafydd shrugged.

“I’m not sure. The Words say, and I quote, ‘They stole, “I prefer borrowed”, the elves’ horses’. Make sense of that if you can.”

Selene shrugged. “It’s ‘Sue logic. Let’s skip it and go on. I’m getting a headache.”

Dafydd laughed and activated the portal.

They arrived in a patch of Generic Terrain (TM), the slightly colder air hinting at a higher altitude. Selene glanced at the words and sighed.

“First they’re Androlilians then they’re Adrolilians. There we see the virtues of re-reading.”

Dafydd was watching the ‘Sue’s ring as the people prepared for the night, and “Saira felt her ring warm on her finger; it glittered in the moonlight”. This resulted in an interesting image, the silver ring managing to visibly glow warmer whilst simultaneously glittering. It made a nice contrast to the black stone, which Selene swore was naught but glass.

The aforementioned Selene again looked at the words and sniggered. Dafydd looked over at her and raised an eyebrow.

“People, snuggling, each other, and bondage are not words which work well in the same sentence,” she explained. Dafydd nodded in understanding while blushing, and the pair sat down to wait for the ‘Sue to show off again. They did not have to wait for long.

After a short period of general Angst, an elf stepped out of the shadows.

“Give it up, slave.”

“Give up the Halfling, she-elf,” added Dafydd, in a reasonable Nazgul voice. Selene smirked.

“It’s scary how similar they are, isn’t it?” the Assassin commented. Her partner nodded, and then turned his attention back to the pointless fight. As the ‘Sue caused the hapless elf to fall off a cliff, he glared at her. He then continued to glare until she left.

“They’re here for the night,” said Selene, trying to calm him down. “Lie down, get some sleep. I’ll keep watch on the morons.”

By morning, Dafydd felt much better, but it didn’t last. Glancing at the Words, he saw ‘The morning sun rose, waking the Androlilians, who stretched and yawned in contentment. Saira made no mention of the elf, and led them on.’

“They’re content? They’ve spent the night lying on cold, hard ground, and they’re content?”

“Well,” came Selene’s voice from behind him, “she got one thing right. She’s definitely leading them on.”

Dafydd nodded distractedly. “They’ll be walking all day, and nothing happens. I want to get out of here. Let’s portal.”

She awoke the next morning to a bright sun. She took a deep breath and left her bed.  She dressed as quickly as she could, and then bounded down the stairs.

“Blast!” exclaimed Dafydd as he closed the portal. “We’ve come too far! We should be here yesterday!”

“Did we miss anything important?” asked Selene, leaning against the wall.

“You can see the Words just as well as I can.”

“Humour me.”

Dafydd sighed theatrically. “All right. She magically repaired their houses, which only looked ‘rather old and moldy’ after Eru knows how many years. Whatever ‘moldy’ means. It looks like she also repaired the interior décor, as a painting and a bed were still intact.”

“A bed?” interjected Selene. “I don’t think they have real beds back here. Not that we have them in HQ either, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

Dafydd shrugged. “She jumped on it, so that looks like an anachronism. Anyway, following that she angsted a bit more, and then found her immortal horse, named Amras.”

Selene’s eyes lit up. “A horse! Where’s the horse? Must see the horse!”

Dafydd coughed. “Er, we have to kill it. She gave it a potion to give it eternal life.”

What? We can’t kill it! It’s a horse!”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, “but it’s also a Cute Animal Friend. And as such, it has to die.”

“No!” yelled Selene, her eyes flashing. Dafydd took this as a bad sign, and thought quickly.


Selene blinked, the lightning in her eyes dissolving into puzzlement. “What did you just say?”

Dafydd took a deep breath. “I said that on the other hand, I recall Kai setting up a care centre for these animals, and that maybe we could give it to her.”

“Oh. Right.” Selene considered. “Yes, that seems reasonable. We’ll have to give him a new name, though – I am not having a horse named after a son of Fëanor running around HQ.”

"No," muttered Dafydd, "we can't have that..." Looking up, he nodded. "Fine. Now come on, we’ve got an appointment with Mary Sue.”

The ‘Sue and her boyfriend rode away amidst the cheers and well-wishers. Saira turned one last time to wave goodbye atop the hill...

... and then screamed in agony as one of Selene’s adapted throwing stars sliced it off at the wrist.

“I must be losing my touch,” commented Selene as the boyfriend grabbed his weapons and the ‘Sue stupidly stared at her hand lying on the ground. “I only meant to take off the ring finger.”

Dafydd nodded in agreement, and then pointed his bow at Daeron. “Put the sword down, name-stealer. I may not be allowed to kill you yet, but I can certainly make you hurt.”

“Never, elf!” the ‘Stu cried. Dafydd rolled his eyes, then selected a special arrow and shot Daeron in the head.

The Androlilian fell off his horse and hit the ground unconscious. Dafydd walked swiftly down to him, collected the club-headed arrow he had fired, and then looked over at Selene. The other agent had pulled Sairalindë off her horse and thrown her to the ground, where she lay clutching at the stump of her wrist.

“Sairalindë and Daeron, you are hereby arrested by agents of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. You are charged with having impossible hair, multiple stupid descriptions, grandstanding and unnecessary Drama, slandering the entire elvish race by causing them to keep slaves, messing with timescales - there haven't been 'many ages' in Middle-Earth - creating an uncanonical species, to whit, witches and warlocks, with Ainu-esque 'magic' – this isn’t Harry Potter, you know. Honestly, why did you have to do that? None of them have used this ‘magic’ except you, and you used that ring for it anyway. Oh, yes... where is that thing?”

As Dafydd wandered off to find the hand Saira had lost, Selene grabbed the charge sheet. “I’ll finish this off, shall I?”

“Oh, yeah, you do that,” replied Dafydd distractedly.

Selene turned back to where the ‘Sue cowered. “You are also charged with stealing two canonical names without good reason, having a nonsensical name, giving an elf a non-elven name, speaking in sentence fragments, utilising random italics, employing gratuitous Angst, diminishing the power of the One Ring by having a ring which acts in a similar way, disrupting the flow of time, speaking in brackets, manifesting gags, causing mysterious voices, creating a mini-UnCanon species, using the words 'people', 'snuggling', 'each other', and 'bondage' in the same sentence, using stupid turns of phrase, annoying PPC Agents, and being Mary-Sues. For all these offences, you are sentenced to death. Do you have any last words?”

“You can’t kill me!” cried Saira weakly. “If you do, the elves will-“

“Whoops, wrong answer,” cut in Selene, and selected another throwing star.

“Selene, wait!” cried Dafydd. “You can’t kill her!” Selene turned to her partner in shock, wondering if somehow he had succumbed to the Suvian influence. Seeing her expression, he grinned. “Not yet, anyway. I’ve got a much better idea. Here’s what we’ll do...”

The portal opened onto a sunlit road. Saira stumbled through, and then stood helplessly as it shut, leaving her alone.

But she was not alone for long. From around a corner came the sound of many hooves, and nine black horses galloped towards her. Seeing the black robed figure on the front horse, she cried out.

“Father! I’ve found you at-“

At that point, she felt a sharp pain to her neck as the Witch King’s blade took her head off at the shoulders. And then she knew no more.

Deep within the Girdle of Melian, the guards of Menegroth rarely had anything to do. Nevertheless, Mablung kept them all alert, knowing that the world was filled with dangers, and that something could easily pass the Girdle by air.

Thus is was that, when a strange being stumbled out of the trees, they wasted no time in filling him with enough arrows to down a balrog.

Dafydd and Selene watched Daeron’s death with a certain satisfaction. Dafydd sighed contentedly as the body slumped, bleeding, to the earthen floor. “I love irony.”

Selene frowned. “Okay, I get that letting the Witch King killing the one who claims to be his daughter was ironic, but how is this?”

Dafydd looked over at her. “Daeron. Minstrel of Doriath. And where are we?”

Selene blushed. “... I knew that. Really.”

Dafydd smiled. “Come on. Let’s get back. And don’t forget to bring the horse.”