This is not at all part of the story; it takes place in an alternate universe … or something. It’s just a bit of silliness to fill several reader’s requests, and to provide a bit of stupid fun for Christmas. It also makes handy relief for a frog who is beginning to get strained juggling so many plot related balls at once.
NB: Please don’t kill me for the fanmail. I’m not basing them on anyone’s comments, just typical fanmail stuff.
Fulk and Eleanor walked in through the gate of Woburn manor, leading their two horses. They were footsore and weary, more than a little muddy and the gore produced by their fight against the bandits yesterday had now dried to a deep brownish black. Fulk’s armour was beginning to rust.
Their arrival was greeted in an unexpected manner; William came hurtling out the main door with Anne hanging on to the back of his belt with both hands, dragging along and digging her heels in as she tried to hold him back. “Stop!” she pleaded, nearly losing her grip and balance as William banked into a turn and headed right for Eleanor.
“Brat!” bellowed William, his face turning purple. “Have a nice trip?”
“Not bad,” replied Eleanor mildly.
William stopped just short of his daughter and looked over his shoulder at Anne. “I say, do you mind letting go? It is a bit hard to go into a proper apocalyptic rage with you clinging on back there.”
“That is the idea.” Anne tightened her grip and prepared to be all brave and martyrish.
“Look, sweetheart-”
“Don’t sweetheart me, you great lump. You know I am chairwoman of the Society for the Protection of Eleanor, or SPE as I like to call it.”
“Darling, please let go? Please? I promise I will not break any bones or kill her, please?"
“No!”
Eleanor and Fulk exchanged a meaningful glance, one which said “What in the name of boiled eggs is going on here!?”
The meaningful looks and assorted husband/wife pleading was interrupted by Trempwick, arriving in high dudgeon and asking in a dramatically wounded voice, “Nell, how could you?”
“How could I what, master?”
“You know what I mean, and frankly, dear Nell, I am more than a little annoyed.”
“About what?”
“You know, Nell. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“No, I really do not know.” Eleanor frowned slightly. “Are you going senile, master?”
Trempwick choked. “I am only thirty-four!”
“I always thought you were older …”
“Insult to injury, darling Nell, insult to injury. I shall have to work hard to think of something appropriately sadistic to put you through for this.”
Eleanor snapped her fingers and pulled a wry face. “Oh darn!”
Fulk had had enough. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “SPE? Raging kings? Upset spymasters? Honestly it’s like the world has gone mad overnight!”
William levelled an accusing finger at Eleanor. “You slut! Pain! Much pain! More pain! Yes, pain will follow for this!” His maniacal evil villain style speech was cut off by Anne elbowing him in the back and scowling furiously at him.
Trempwick, Eleanor and Fulk watched the start of a new king/queen bout of squabbling, then looked away feeling totally embarrassed. Trempwick clearly felt the onerous duty of outlining the weak plot of this story had fallen upon his shoulders. He cleared his throat and said balefully, “Your night of ‘fun’ with your pet, dear Nell. We know all about it. In detail.”
Eleanor turned on her ‘so innocent butterflies come out of my nose when I sneeze’ act. “What night of ‘fun’, master?”
“You, him, a priest’s hut, and there is no point in explaining further because the readers only read that bit a few days ago so they should remember it all very well.”
“It is all an evil lie,” insisted Eleanor virtuously.
Fulk nodded vigorously. “Whatever it was we didn’t do it.”
Trempwick brandished a bundle of letters. “Ah ha! But there is no denying it, dear Nell - I have proof! The Fulk hating readers wrote in en masse to tell me about your antics.”
He selected one letter and began to read. “Dear Raoul (can I call you that? I’m your biggest fan! You’re so great, and so not like that annoying Fulk idiot.) I enclose here a copy of the scene where your little Nell (you deserve better, but maybe she will one day see how special you are and fall totally and deeply in love with you. I do hope so!!) starts doing unspeakable things with her stupid pet (kill him! Kill him please! You’re so much cooler than him and he takes up space in the story you could occupy instead!). I couldn’t bear watching them make a fool out of you. Please do something, for the sake of your fans (I’m your biggest fan ever!).”
Eleanor smartly shot back, “It’s a lie, slander. Yes - lies.”
Trempwick selected another letter. “Dear Trempwick. I feel it is in your best interests to inform you that Eleanor is carrying on with Fulk. I don’t really like Fulk much so please kill him. Thanks, signed a reader who hates Fulk.”
“Erm … more lies?” tried Eleanor.
“‘A chivalrous man never leaves his lady to freeze while he is nice and warm,” said Eleanor insistently as she began to tug at his tunic.’” Trempwick lowered this bit of paper and looked at her reprovingly. “Oh Nell, how could you?” He read another section, “‘“Springy tree branch,” she said in a soft murmur with a shake of her head and a hint of a smile.’” This time his expression was hurt. “Sweet Nell, you never talk to me like that, and you never run your finger down my nose and make mushy jokes based on back story that readers will have probably forgotten.”
Eleanor had the grace to blush. “Yes, well, it is all to do with attraction, master. We don’t have any. At all.” As an afterthought, “Oh yes – that scene is fake, also lies and slander to discredit me!”
William had finally won free of Anne. “Enough of this! I say we batter the brat, kill the knight, and live happily ever after.”
He threw himself at Eleanor, only to find Anne had grabbed him about the waist in a bear hug. “And I say we don’t batter Eleanor and kill Fulk!”
Trempwick glowered. “I am quite happy to settle for killing the pet in a hideous and painful manner and then marrying Nell right away. I would actually prefer it if you did not make a mess out of her for once, William.”
William lurched a few steps closer to Eleanor. She was currently watching him with mild fascination. William balled a hand up into a fist, began to swing, then missed as she stepped back a pace out of range. “Damn it! Hold still when I am trying to thump you,” he complained. “It is hard to hit a moving target at my age.”
Anne began to loudly tell him that the SPE did not approve of this. Trempwick had to shout to be heard over the queen’s diatribe, “Can we just skip to the bit where we hurt Fulk a lot now, please? The readers want it.”
Fulk had something to say about that, “Oh no they don’t! I have letters of my own, spymaster. I also have the gooseberry’s approval, which is more than you’ll ever get.” Fulk produced his own bundle of fanmail, selected one at random and began to read. “Dear Fulk, you are my number 1 hero and I think you are really great. You and Nell are a cute couple. I think you should kick the king and spymaster about a lot, please? I live in hope of this happening, and I know you’re more than capable.”
He gave the assemblage a proud smirk, then moved to another letter. “Dear Fulk, someone needs to kill William and Trempwick; I hope it’s you. I love all your scenes. Can I have your autograph?”
He began to read a third letter, this one on pink scented note paper. “Dear Fulk. You look really cute in that armour. It makes me want to-” Fulk pulled a face and stopped reading very quickly. “Yes, well there’s no need to finish that one.”
Eleanor was incensed. “You get love letters?”
Fulk scratched the back of his neck and suddenly found the ground very interesting and eye-catching. “Well, one or two. I put them on the fire; you’re the only gooseberry in my life.”
Eleanor sniffled. “I don’t even get fanmail.”
Fulk gathered her into a hug and kissed her on the forehead. “Never mind, oh dejected one. I’m sure you have plenty of fans out there.”
William and Trempwick both pointed fingers and yelled in unison, “Ah ha! Proof!” while Anne went all misty-eyed and cooed, “Aaaahhhh, how sweeeeet.”
Trempwick was quick to take back command of the situation. “Right, I have a plan that will hopefully make everybody happy. If you will all calm down and hear me out?” Hush fell. William and Anne’s struggling ceased but they kept on holding on to each other. Fulk and Eleanor, now the game was up, chose to take up that delightful looking pose so often used by doomed loves in films, the one where the woman clings fearfully to the man while he stands there with an arm about her waist looking all brave and determined.
Trempwick began to explain, “I shall play benevolent spymaster and overlook Nell’s little indiscretion. I shall marry her now because I have been waiting years and frankly I am tired of being lonely. The travelling to find someone suitably accommodating is really getting me down, and Nell substitutes are not the same anyway. That makes me happy, and after a while I am sure she will be happy too. She will, yes, happy, it just takes a bit of time, yes – yes.” He sounded almost hysterical in his need to believe that.
Eleanor had but one comment. “Disgusting!”
“Thank you, sweet Nell,” said Trempwick dryly. “Now, the king and queen will then stop arguing because Nell is safely sorted out. That makes the two of you happy. Finally, we have the pet.”
“And I fail to see how I’ll be happy with this plan of yours – the princess is mine,” said Fulk firmly.
Eleanor glared up at him. “I am not property, you know.”
William helpfully said, “Actually, you are. In many respects, anyway.”
Fulk patted Eleanor on the head and said soothingly, “Never mind. I actually meant ‘mine’ as in ‘her heart is mine’. It’s a common thing for the hopelessly besotted to say.”
Eleanor was slightly mollified. “Oh. Well, that is alright, then.” The exceptionally long and passionate kiss from Fulk aided the mollification effort considerably.
Trempwick coughed loudly and importantly, but failed to break up the kiss. “Ahem,” he tried. That too failed. His shout of, “Oi! Put her down!” bounced right off the protective glow of mushiness enveloping the duo. “I’m waiting.” Still nothing. “Why does she never do that with me?” wondered Trempwick plaintively. “Time, yes, a bit more time and she will.”
Several minutes later his patience died. “I will continue without you,” he threatened. Finally they broke the kiss; the secretive, soppy smiles they exchanged immediately afterwards only salted Trempwick’s wounds. “Finally, the pet. He dies. This makes the largest part of the readership happy, makes me happy, makes William happy, Nell will grow to be happy about it, and Anne will get over it too.”
Fulk muttered, “I won’t be happy about it.”
“You will be dead; you will not matter.”
Eleanor was quick on her mental feet, and determined to rescue her broken-nosed follower. “But it appears more of the readership likes Fulk than hates him, so you will upset them. I also swear I will never forgive you if you kill him, ever, no matter what you do.”
Anne eagerly joined in. “Me too! As chairwoman of the SPE I refuse to countenance anything which might upset Eleanor. I also love soppy love stories.”
William sighed. “If only we knew how the readership was split, then the argument would become much easier.”
A small, cute frog no one had noticed until now spoke up, “Actually the split between Trempwick and Fulk is about even.”
“Oh, thanks.” William did a comedy double take and stared at the frog. “Did you just talk?”
“Ribbit,” replied the frog glumly. “Ribbit, also generic frog noises.”
William smiled with relief. “Good, good, talking frogs are the work of the devil. Ok, everybody. We have heard the spymaster’s cunning plan, and it won’t work. Anyone else got an idea?”
Eleanor shot in the gap. “I have, and this one is pure brilliance, if I do say so myself. Here we go: I marry Fulk, making myself, Fulk, Anne and half the readership very happy indeed-”
“No!” interrupted William and Trempwick simultaneously. Eleanor pouted. William alone added, “Has anyone got a good idea?”
The frog shrugged its froggy little shoulders. “I do, but I’m not telling. Oh, er, ribbit, ribbit, I am a froggy frog making frog noises. Nothing to burn at the stake here, ribbit. Barbequed frog tastes nasty anyway, ribbit.”
William took up a decisive, masculine pose with his hands on his belt. “Then it is up to me to solve all this, and as king my word is law. Ha!”
Anne tugged on the nearest tunic sleeve. “Don’t do anything I won’t like or I shall cry.”
William’s pose deflated, then bounced back to its former glory. “If you will just let go of me, dear, so I can think properly …” Anne warily let go. “Thank you,” beamed William, ruffling her hair with one hand. Suddenly he flew at Eleanor, fists flying. He found his path blocked by Fulk. The knight smiled, them punched William in the stomach. William groaned and staggered back. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Anne said seriously, “Bad king. You deserved that.” and kicked his ankle.
William appealed to Trempwick. “And you still want to get married? Even after seeing what I have to live with?”
Trempwick shrugged his shoulders. “Well, what can I say? All those years of quietly stewing while living near the woman I cautiously admit to having a mild fondness for has addled my brains a bit. Can we drop this subject? I really don’t feel comfortable talking about love, sex or my feelings.”
“Sorry, Raoul. I never knew that.”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“I understand, old thing.” William patted his spymaster on the shoulder in a companionable, macho male bonding, not even slightly gay way.
Meanwhile Eleanor and Fulk were busy with the whole kissing thing again.
When the gathering regained some semblance of order again Anne suggested, “We could always do what they do in the stories. We could let Fulk and Trempwick fight in a duel, and the winner gets Eleanor’s hand in marriage.”
“Great!” said Fulk.
“Bad!” said Trempwick, at exactly the same time. He scuffled the toe of his boot on the cobblestones of the courtyard. “I mean why is it always fighting?” he demanded. “What about the slightly less belligerent man? Why do we never have contests of brains? Why does the idiot in armour who is more talented at hitting people always get the girl?”
William considered. “I know you have a good point, Raoul, but a fight is traditional. Perhaps we can compromise? A test of brains, and a test of swordsmanship? A game of chess too?”
Eleanor said, “But Fulk will win the swordfight and Trempwick will win the chess game.”
"Hey!” protested Fulk.
Eleanor smiled apologetically at him. “Sorry, but I am trying to be realistic here.”
William sighed heavily. “So that is no good either. You do cause trouble, brat. I hope you know that.”
“Sorry, father.”
“I should hope so – my hair has begun to fall out and go grey because of you.”
“And I am covered in scars because of you.”
“Your fault, brat.”
“Yours, baldy.”
“Yours!”
“Yours!”
“Yours times ten!”
“Yours times one hundred million!”
“Yours times infinity! Ha! Take that, brat! Schooled by your old man.” William started doing a very stupid dance and chanted, “I win, I win, I win, I win, go me, go me, go me, yo!”
Eleanor muttered something nasty and wriggled deeper into Fulk’s embrace. “I am not related to him,” she declared, her voice muffled by the fact she had her face buried in Fulk’s tunic. “He is too embarrassing;. I don’t even know him. Never seen him before in my life.”
The little frog sighed and said in a saintly manner, “To think, right back at the beginning people wished Fulk would fall for Nell. Well he did, and now look at the mess. Mush, love, feelings, romance and all that crap are just trouble!” Everyone ignored the amphibian.
Trempwick said very innocently, “I have an idea; how about we both learn to share? Fulk has Nell as his wife for one half of the year, and I for the other. I shall even let him choose; he can have her while the trees have no leaves, or while the leaves are out.”
Eleanor dissented, “I do not want to be a time share!” She was ignored, just like the poor frog.
Fulk looked at the bare winter trees and grinned. “Ok, I choose-”
Eleanor slapped a hand over his mouth. “No! Not that old trick.”
Trempwick spread his hands and continued his not at all overdone innocent act. “Nell, Nell, you wound me. What old trick?”
“Hold on.” Eleanor removed her hand from Fulk’s mouth and asked urgently, “What were you going to say? While there were leaves or no leaves?”
“No leaves, as in right now.”
“Twit.” She raised her voice again, “The old trick where the eager moron,” she glared witheringly at Fulk, “chooses when there are no leaves, thinking it means winter, conveniently when the question is always asked. As there are some plants with leaves all year around his time never comes.”
There was a long pause as everyone wracked their brains. Fulk was the one to speak in the end. “This whole interlude was a reader request thing, right?” The gathering nodded, for once all able to agree. “So, two of the readers requested that I beat the crap out of you two,” he waved at the king and Trempwick. “Seems obvious to me.”
“But that is not fair!” complained Trempwick vociferously. “I do not like pain, and I have just as many fans as you!”
Fulk held up a finger. “Ah, but think. Two against one, and I am wounded. By the terms of the request Eleanor is not allowed to get involved. The reader can request but there is nothing to stop you overpowering me; reality can’t be bent.”
Oh no?” muttered the frog. “Take a good look around, rusty.”
William and Trempwick exchanged a few covert words then began to smile. William said, “Is this agreeable to everyone?” Again the gathering nodded. “Right, then let us begin.”
Before the king had finished talking Trempwick threw himself at Fulk, pummelling away. The knight blocked and defended himself, searching for a chance to lay the spymaster out in one go as painfully as possible. William dodged around to behind Fulk and wrapped his hands around his throat. Fulk began to choke, clawing at the hands while Trempwick very carefully began landing blows all over Fulk, avoiding his armour to catch him in unprotected areas.
Fulk rolled his eyes and gasped, “Cute.” He pushed off from the ground, springing backwards so William lost his balance and got crushed under one armour coated knight. The king said something akin to, “Oahshgdge!!!!” and lay still. Fulk rolled, then sprang back onto his feet. Cockily he beckoned to the spymaster. “Come on, I have been waiting 229 pages to get you.”
Trempwick began to move backwards, keeping his distance from the advancing knight. Eleanor called, “Come on master. If you are really that bothered about marrying me you could at least fight with a bit more enthusiasm. If not you can just let me go.”
Trempwick sighed and began to exchange blows with Fulk, each attacking and blocking at a blur in a cheap imitation of a martial arts film. This was clearly an anachronism because oriental martial arts had not made their way to medieval England at this time. “Why does she have to have a thing for fighting men?” he asked mournfully.
“No idea,” replied Fulk, jumping over a kick. “But it comes in handy for me.”
From the sidelines Eleanor instructed sternly, “Less talking; more fighting.”
Fulk’s fist slammed into the side of Trempwick’s head and the spymaster dropped like a pole axed ox. Fulk rested one foot on his foe’s chest and raised both fists in a triumphant celebration. “I win!”
At this point a horse magically appeared in the courtyard, saddled up and ready to go. Fulk lifted Eleanor up onto the horse’s withers and swung into the saddle. They began to ride away. Trempwick scraped himself off the ground and waved a fist after them. “This isn’t over, you’ll see! We still have the real story to get on with! I will-” He conveniently fainted away before he could give out any spoilers.
Together Eleanor and Fulk rode away. “Now what?” asked Eleanor.
“Quick stop at the nearest church, I think.”
“Then what?” Fulk answered with a grin. Eleanor sighed. “Typical male.”
“How would you know, oh innocent one?”
“I have heard stories.”
“Really? And you’re also a mind reader?”
“I don’t need to mind read – I was enquiring as to what we are going to do with the rest of our lives now we are homeless, jobless, friendless and penniless. You do not answer a question like that with a grin that drips … intent.”
“Intent for what?”
“You know what.”
The bickering continued as they rode off into the sunset.
finis
Remember: none of this actually happened.
:stretches lazily: That was fun; it has been far too long since I indulged my mad comedy streak. Less than an hour’s work, and 6 ½ pages long.
The real story will resume soon.
The mush was good, coz1? Relieved to hear it!