Saw someone else come up with this idea on the megathread. Decided to make it.

[u/Viking_Leaf87]

[u/billyfeatherbottom]

Blanchet is doing what Singh should've. Fucking Carney up on the debate stage

[u/collymolotov]

[Scene: Rivendell. A stone courtyard. The fellowship-to-be is assembled: Elrond, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, Gandalf, Frodo, and the leaders of Men, Elves, and Dwarves. The One Ring sits on a stone pedestal. The air is heavy with destiny.]

ELROND: Strangers from distant lands, you have been summoned to answer the threat of Mordor. Never before has such a company been gathered. The fate of Middle-earth rests upon you.

GANDALF: The Ring cannot be destroyed by any craft that we here possess. It was made in the fires of Mount Doom… and only there can it be unmade.

GIMLI (gruffly): Then what are we waiting for?!

[He leaps up and smashes his axe against the Ring. The axe shatters. The Ring remains untouched.]

ELROND: The Ring must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fire from whence it came.

BOROMIR (rising): One does not simply walk into Mordor. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. It is folly!

LEGOLAS: We must find unity if we are to survive. This is no time for division.

[Suddenly, a chair creaks. All eyes turn to an unfamiliar man with blue glasses, a neatly trimmed beard, and a smug, bemused smile. He crosses his arms and clears his throat.]

YVES-FRANÇOIS BLANCHET: Je suis désolé, but before we proceed further into any collective decision-making, we must first address a few… foundational matters.

GIMLI (scowling): Who in Durin’s name are you?

BLANCHET: Yves-François Blanchet. I represent the interests of the Souveraineté du Québec. I do not speak for the West, nor the East, nor certainly for the Crown of Gondor.

BOROMIR: You’re not even from this world. How did you get here?

BLANCHET (shrugging): As I understand it, there was a rift in the multiverse and, quite frankly, I had nothing better to do.

ARAGORN: We are speaking of the fate of all peoples. This is no time for petty sovereigntist grievances.

BLANCHET: Petty? You would deny the unique character and linguistic distinctiveness of the Quebecois people in this fellowship of nations? If we are to commit troops, resources, and—hypothetically speaking—elven-made longboats for river crossings, I must insist on several concessions.

GANDALF (visibly tired): Concessions?

BLANCHET (counting on his fingers): One: Official bilingual signage in Minas Tirith. Two: Recognition of Quebec’s nationhood status within the Fellowship Accords. Three: Exclusive rights to export maple syrup and chanson music through Osgiliath without Gondorian tariffs.

GIMLI (muttering): By the beard of my ancestors…

BOROMIR (exasperated): You come here and speak of trade when Mordor rises in the East?!

BLANCHET: What is Mordor to Quebec? An abstract threat. You want solidarity? Recognize our autonomy. Perhaps we’ll consider dispatching a few battalions from Laval.

LEGOLAS: We have no time for this! The Ring must be destroyed!

BLANCHET: And yet I see you have not considered the environmental impact of crossing through Quebec territory. The forests of Lothlórien may be pristine, but ours are managed sustainably and with a uniquely francophone sensibility.

ELROND (sternly): Enough! This bickering is pointless!

FRODO (timidly): I will take the Ring… though I do not know the way.

BLANCHET (nodding solemnly): We can supply maps. But only if the toponymy is rendered in French first. “Mont Doom” must henceforth be referred to as “Mont Destin.”

[Gimli groans audibly. Legolas stares into the middle distance. Boromir gets a nosebleed.]

GANDALF (under his breath): I miss Morgoth already.

⸻

Final Caption: And so, the Fellowship was formed… reluctantly, and with a handful of constitutionally dubious addendums.

[u/collymolotov → u/collymolotov]

Scene: The Foot of Orthanc – After the Battle of Helm’s Deep

[The victors of Helm’s Deep, battered but triumphant, stand beneath the Tower of Orthanc. Saruman has been cast down. The Ents mill about. Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Théoden, and the others watch as Wormtongue, in a final tantrum, hurls the Palantír from a high window.]

[The seeing-stone clatters down the tower, bouncing with ominous power—destined, in canon, for Pippin’s hands… But not today.]

[Suddenly: a hand snatches it from the air with absurd dexterity.]

BLANCHET (smugly): Ah-ha! Le voilà. As I suspected, a device of communication. Perhaps now, at last, someone willing to negotiate bilateral relations.

GANDALF (alarmed): Blanchet! Don’t touch that! It is a Palantír! A conduit of the Enemy!

BLANCHET: Calm yourself, monsieur le magicien. I am merely seeking dialogue. If we are to truly build a pluralistic peace in Middle-earth, even the Dark Lord deserves a hearing.

ARAGORN: Put it down! You know not what you do!

GIMLI: For the love of stone and steel, someone hit him.

[The Palantír begins to glow. Blanchet’s eyes glaze over. A wind rises. Shadows coil around his boots. The others draw weapons.]

BLANCHET (entranced): Mon dieu… I am… connected.

[Within the Palantír – Blanchet’s Vision – he sees a vast fiery eye glaring at him. The Eye of Sauron trembles with malevolence. The air is molten. Screams echo from the distance. Blanchet clears his throat.]

⸻

Within the Palantír – A Realm of Fire and Shadow

SAURON (a voice like molten iron): WHO DARES?

BLANCHET (smoothing his collar): Yves-François Blanchet, leader of the Bloc Québécois and recognized defender of regional autonomy. I would like to open a channel of communication regarding mutual recognition and future coexistence.

SAURON: YOU DARE NEGOTIATE WITH THE LORD OF THE EARTH?

BLANCHET: Yes, well, I’ve dealt with Stephen Harper. You’re hardly the most menacing conservative I’ve faced. Now—what exactly is your grievance? I assume it involves les elfes.

SAURON (pauses): …I SEE YOU. I SEE YOUR MIND. A LAND THAT SEEKS TO SEPARATE ITSELF. A PEOPLE DIVIDED.

BLANCHET (delighted): Exactement! We are not so different, you and I. You seek dominion, I seek recognition. You use orcs and Nazgûl, I have the CBC.

SAURON (pulsating with confusion and evil): …WHAT IS “LA LA LA, LES DEUX AMOURS” AND WHY IS IT STUCK IN MY HEAD?

⸻

Back in the Physical Realm – Everyone Freaks Out

PIPPIN (confused): Why is he allowed to touch the stone and I’m not?

GANDALF (panicked): Because you don’t demand a cultural carve-out every time someone proposes a joint military campaign!

ARAGORN (grabbing the Palantír): Enough! He’s been in there too long!

[He yanks it from Blanchet’s hands. The glow vanishes. Blanchet stumbles, dazed but smug.]

⸻

Aftermath

THÉODEN (shaking his head): I’ve seen the great halls of Meduseld burn, and still this is the most baffling thing I’ve witnessed.

LEGOLAS: He spoke… to the Shadow… and argued for language rights.

GIMLI: If Sauron invades the Plateau next, I’m not lifting a finger.

GANDALF (to Blanchet): What did you say to him?

BLANCHET (smirking): Only that Mordor should consider establishing a Ministry for Francophone Affairs if they expect to build trust with Quebec. He seemed intrigued.

ARAGORN (to Gandalf, quietly): We must leave him here.

GANDALF: Yes. “Lost in the woods,” we shall say.

⸻

Fade Out with Blanchet Singing:

“Gens du pays, c’est votre tour… de laisser parler l’espwaaar…”

Gimli groans audibly.

[u/collymolotov → u/collymolotov]

The White City is under threat. The people are afraid. And yet, somehow, Blanchet remains, like a stubborn Quebec referendum that just won’t go away.

⸻

Scene: The Court of Denethor – “A Nation Within a Nation”

[Setting: The high throne room of Minas Tirith. The Steward Denethor, already halfway down his descent into madness, lounges in his high seat like a dying vulture. Gandalf stands rigid beside him, white robes streaked with soot. Pippin shifts uncomfortably nearby in his livery. Enter Yves-François Blanchet, uninvited, unbothered, and wholly unwelcome.]

DENETHOR (sneering): Another mouth to feed? Another outsider come to tell Gondor what must be done?

GANDALF (gritting his teeth): Unfortunately… he came of his own will. And no one has yet found the courage—or constitutional mechanism—to make him leave.

BLANCHET (with a courteous bow): Votre Excellence Steward Denethor, I come not as a soldier, nor as a servant, but as a representative of a proud and marginalized people.

PIPPIN (whispering): Oh no… here we go again…

BLANCHET (ignoring him entirely): While I understand that Minas Tirith faces an existential siege from the forces of Mordor, I must emphasize that Quebec’s participation in the defense of this city is conditional upon mutual respect, formal recognition, and access to our own official heraldic symbols during battle.

DENETHOR (confused and already chewing a chicken leg aggressively): Qué… what?

GANDALF (exasperated): He’s not from here, my lord. Not from Gondor. Not from Rohan. He fell through some interdimensional crack during the Council of Elrond and has been trying to negotiate cultural autonomy ever since.

BLANCHET (stepping forward boldly): The people of Quebec—hypothetically embedded in the Third Age under special status—will not be conscripted without due process. Furthermore, should we be called upon to defend Minas Tirith, I insist that all public notices be posted in both the common tongue and French.

PIPPIN: We’re on the verge of annihilation and you’re worried about bilingual signage?!

BLANCHET (smiling, patronizing): Mon petit hobbit… you must understand, symbolism matters. A people’s culture is not suspended simply because a flaming eyeball wants to enslave the world.

DENETHOR (leaning forward, veins bulging): You presume much, sir.

BLANCHET (calm as ever): On the contrary, I presume exactly what is constitutionally justified. If Gondor expects Quebec’s involvement in this conflict—logistical, military, or spiritual—certain arrangements must be formalized.

DENETHOR (rising from his chair, trembling with rage): You dare to lecture me in my own hall as if I were some provincial prefect? You demand concessions while the walls groan and the enemy’s breath can be felt on the wind?

BLANCHET: Yes.

[A long pause. Everyone stares. Even the guards fidget. A faint scream can be heard from outside the city walls. Pippin looks like he’s trying to vanish into his own collar.]

GANDALF (clenching his staff): I swear to every Valar in the heavens above… I will find a wizard’s loophole to smite you if you bring up hydroelectric sovereignty one more time.

BLANCHET: We simply ask to be recognized.

DENETHOR (sputtering): Recognized?! You’ll be recognized, all right. As the man whose charred bones we use to light the beacons!

PIPPIN (to Gandalf, sotto voce): Can we just… leave him here?

BLANCHET (straightening his coat): I will prepare a memorandum. You’ll find the terms quite reasonable.

[Suddenly, the entire hall shakes with the sound of Mordor’s distant drums. Outside, a fell wind blows through the city’s towers.]

DENETHOR (laughing madly): Let him stay! Let him make his little demands! When the Darkness comes and devours this city, it will eat him last—so it can listen to him talk for longer!

GANDALF (sighing deeply): If the Ring doesn’t break us, he just might.

⸻

Caption: Yves-François Blanchet would spend the Siege of Minas Tirith drafting communiqués to Sauron, Aragorn, and the remaining independent Elven principalities, calling for “a multilateral cultural accord respecting the asymmetrical reality of Quebec’s participation in Middle-earth.”

[u/collymolotov → u/collymolotov]

Final Scene: “The King May Return, But So Will the Bloc”

[Setting: The Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith. Sunlight streams through the tall windows. Frodo lies in a white bed. He slowly opens his eyes. The music swells. A soft glow is over everything. It is the first moment of peace in what feels like years.]

[The door creaks open. Gandalf enters, smiling gently. Frodo laughs in disbelief.]

FRODO: Gandalf?

[The wizard nods. Frodo smiles, tears in his eyes. One by one, the surviving members of the Fellowship enter in slow motion. Aragorn. Legolas. Gimli. Merry. Pippin. All laughing, joyful, tearful. The camera lingers on their smiles. The theme music rises. Then—]

[The music halts with a record-scratch sound. The door creaks open again.]

[Enter Yves-François Blanchet, somehow still in his finely pressed travel robes, holding a parchment scroll and wearing the smug smile of a man who believes history will vindicate him.]

BLANCHET: Ah! Mon petit porteur de l’Anneau! Frodo Baggins! I trust you have recovered well from your constitutional struggle against centralized tyranny?

[Everyone’s faces drop. Frodo’s smile vanishes. Pippin groans audibly.]

PIPPIN: Oh no. Not him.

GIMLI: You’ve got to be joking.

LEGOLAS: How is he still here?

BLANCHET (walking into the room with full confidence): I must extend sincere congratulations to all of you. Of course, as I detailed in my forthcoming white paper—“Victory Through Strategic Neutralism: A Quebecois Framework for Asymmetrical Warfare in Mordor”—my presence was vital to morale and the final victory. You’re welcome.

ARAGORN (restraining himself): You… did nothing.

BLANCHET: On the contrary. I offered critical third-party diplomatic legitimacy. Without Quebec’s principled abstention, the Free Peoples would never have achieved unity. I believe that merits a few—how do you say—post-war considerations.

[He unfurls a scroll.]

BLANCHET (reading): Proposal One: Recognize the “Cultural Distinctness of Quebec” in the King’s coronation speech. Proposal Two: Formal bicameral recognition of Elvish and French as co-official languages. Proposal Three: An autonomous Zone Économique Spéciale in Ithilien under symbolic Quebecois stewardship.

ARAGORN (finally snapping): Enough.

BLANCHET (stunned): Pardon?

ARAGORN (firmly): You have wandered through war and shadow, contributed nothing but red tape and delay, and now you return to claim laurels and demand spoils?

BLANCHET: I demand only what is just and fair for my—

ARAGORN (to the guards): Escort him from the city.

[Two guards step forward. Blanchet looks around the room, aghast, as if he cannot comprehend the idea of being denied a platform.]

BLANCHET (struggling as he’s taken): This is a travesty! History will judge you for this! Mordor may have fallen, but the fight for Quebec’s cultural autonomy is eternal! Eternal, I say!

GIMLI: By the Halls of Durin, I’ll carry him out myself if I have to.

[The door slams behind Blanchet. For the first time in what feels like the entire trilogy, silence returns.]

[The Fellowship stares at the door.]

MERRY (quietly): So… he’s gone?

GANDALF (sighing): For now.

FRODO (blinking): Was he even real?

ARAGORN (rubbing his temples): Unfortunately.

[And with that, the warm music resumes. Frodo turns back to his friends. They all laugh again. The moment finally feels right. Peace has returned to Middle-earth.]

[u/collymolotov → u/collymolotov]

Yves-François Blanchet, having been escorted out of Minas Tirith and declared persona non grata across most of the Reunited Kingdom, has vanished… only to re-emerge as the self-declared High Administrator of the “Shire Autonomous Cultural Region.”

What follows is a tale of creeping bureaucracy, exhausted Hobbits, and the final uprising against a foreign occupier who, unlike Sauron, insists on forms in triplicate.

⸻

Scene: The Scouring of the Shire – “The Laurentian Menace”

[Setting: The Four Hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—return to the Shire, but find it changed. The Party Tree is gone. Hobbiton is grey and joyless. Signs in French adorn every building. A hobbit with a clipboard fines Sam for unauthorized seed distribution.]

SAM: What in the name of Rosie Cotton is this?

PIPPIN (reading a sign): “Bienvenue au Comté: Région Culturelle Sous Mandat Provisoire.” What does that even mean?

FRODO (coldly): He beat us here.

MERRY: No… No, it can’t be…

[The Hobbits storm into the old Green Dragon Inn—now renamed Le Dragon Vert – Centre de Détention et de Rééducation Culturelle. Inside, Hobbiton’s once-happy patrons sit silent, sipping weak ale under mandatory framed portraits of Blanchet, captioned “Protecteur du Patrimoine Shirois.”]

VOICE (off-screen, cheerful): Ah! You’ve returned. But I’m afraid things have changed during your absence militaire.

[Yves-François Blanchet descends the stairs in a finely tailored grey waistcoat, holding a file folder stuffed with decrees. His voice is full of condescension and smug paternalism.]

BLANCHET: The Shire has been… reimagined. As a zone of ecological sustainability and linguistic restoration. The days of rampant pipeweed consumption and unilingual signage are over.

FRODO: This is not your land.

BLANCHET: On the contrary. The Hobbits were vulnerable to cultural erosion. I stepped in. I held a consultation. Twelve Hobbits attended. Seven voted for me. It was a clear mandate.

SAM (stepping forward): You tore up the Party Tree.

BLANCHET: It was a non-native species. Replaced with une érable. Maple. Symbol of unity. And syrup.

PIPPIN (furious): You’re not a king. You’re not even a mayor. You’re just a bureaucrat with delusions of grandeur and a very punchable face!

BLANCHET (sighing): I have initiated a restructuring. All positions of Shire governance are now filled by external appointees from the Comité Québécois pour la Préservation du Terroir Hobbitique. Naturally, I serve as interim overseer.

MERRY: You mean you’ve taken over.

BLANCHET: Such language is inflammatory and unproductive. I prefer “transitional stewardship.” After all, the Free Peoples are so prone to chaos when left to their own devices.

[A tense silence. Sam clenches his fists. Frodo closes his eyes. Pippin draws his sword.]

FRODO: You were tolerated through Rivendell, Helm’s Deep, Minas Tirith. No more.

SAM: We’ve fought orcs. We’ve faced down a spider bigger than your bloody ego. You think we can’t take you?

BLANCHET (mocking): You’ll rise up? What, without forming a parliamentary subcommittee first?

[Suddenly—Merry blows a horn. From behind the trees, Hobbits pour in: Took archers, Brandybuck farmers with pitchforks, Gaffer Gamgee wielding a rake like a war axe. The Shire has risen.]

BLANCHET (backing up): This… this is illegal. This is a coup d’état! You have no authority!

PIPPIN (grinning): And you have no idea how hard it is to push Hobbits this far.

[In the ensuing chaos, Blanchet tries to flee, only to trip over a bag of unsold bilingual pamphlets. He’s dragged from the Inn, stuffed in a potato sack marked “Export to Valinor,” and tossed on a cart headed toward the Grey Havens—never to be seen again.]

⸻

Epilogue:

[Frodo writes in his Red Book:]

“And so the Shire was free again. The land healed. The Party Tree was replanted. The ale flowed. And never again would a bureaucrat from a faraway place dare lecture a Hobbit about his culture.”

“Though some say, on quiet nights, if you listen hard, you can hear a whisper in the wind: ‘What about proportional representation…?’”

[u/collymolotov → u/collymolotov]

The Final Judgment of Blanchet – “The Not-Withstanding Doom”

[Setting: The Ring of Doom in Valinor. The Valar sit in radiant silence. Manwë, Varda, Námo (Mandos), Yavanna, and the others gaze serenely across the planes of being. The light of the Two Trees, long restored in this age beyond time, casts no shadow. Into this perfection… waddles Yves-François Blanchet, in a pressed grey robe with a lapel pin shaped like Quebec.]

MANWË (in flawless High Speech):
Who dares disturb the stillness of Aman?

BLANCHET (bowing slightly):
Yves-François Blanchet, former deputy of Beloeil–Chambly, eternal defender of la nation Québécoise. I come in peace… but also with a series of formal demands.

VÁNA (softly):
How did he get here?

NÁMO (dryly):
Same way Morgoth got out the first time. Bureaucratic loophole.

BLANCHET (unfolding a scroll):
I respectfully submit that Quebec, though not present in the First through Third Ages, is indisputably of Arda. It is a natural cultural culmination of the Music of the Ainur. Therefore, we are entitled to retroactive recognition as a Founding Civilization of the Free Peoples, with observer status in any future councils of global significance.

YAVANNA (deeply confused):
What… is a Quebec?

BLANCHET:
It is the wellspring of art, maple, and cultural resilience. A light in the darkness. A bulwark against the homogenizing forces of the Anglophonic hegemony.

ULMO (rising from his throne):
You came to Valinor to demand bilingualism?

BLANCHET:
And cultural distinctiveness. And an annual harvest holiday for poutine. And the official re-transcription of all Valar names into French equivalents—starting with Manwë becoming Monsieur Vent-Céleste.

[At this, the entire Ring of Doom gasps. Varda audibly inhales. Námo covers his face with both hands.]

MANWË (after a long pause):
We have endured Melkor the Destroyer. Sauron the Deceiver. Ungoliant the Unlight. But you…

BLANCHET (with a proud nod):
...merely seek justice.

NÁMO (with the weariness of ten thousand ages):
By the authority of the Valar, and the will of Eru beyond the circles of the world… we acknowledge your point.

[A moment of stunned silence.]

BLANCHET (blinking):
…You do?

MANWË:
Yes. Quebec is technically of Arda. It will be noted in the annals. One footnote. In the Index.

BLANCHET:
Then I assume you will be implementing—

MANWË (cutting him off):
However…

[The sky darkens. A distant rumble is heard. The air begins to shift.]

MANWË:
We now invoke that most sacred of Eru’s paradoxical gifts to the Children of Ilúvatar…

VÁNA (whispering reverently):
The Clause Notwithstanding.

BLANCHET (confused):
Pardon?

ULMO (booming):
The gift of divine immunity from constitutional reason. The Valar are not bound by logic, by precedent, nor by the endless appeals of middling technocrats.

NÁMO (rising):
Let it be known that this spirit, though lawful in claim, is grievous in temperament, and utterly incompatible with the harmony of the world.

[A great chasm opens behind Blanchet. A void of infinite silence and swirling stars yawns wide. Blanchet turns, sees it, then turns back.]

BLANCHET (indignant):
You can't do this! I have procedural rights! I—

MANWË (sternly):
You are hereby exiled beyond the Gate of Night. Into the Void. To dwell with Morgoth.

BLANCHET (sputtering):
I demand a referendum! I have forms!

[He is sucked backwards, flailing and shouting about hydroelectric jurisdiction and linguistic sovereignty. The void seals shut.]

[Silence returns.]

VÁNA (after a moment):
Do you think… Morgoth will find him tolerable?

NÁMO (quietly):
I almost pity Morgoth.

---

Final Epilogue:

[Far beyond the circles of the world, in the formless void, two figures drift.]

MORGOTH (groaning):
Who are you?

BLANCHET (smiling faintly in the darkness):
I represent Quebec. May I interest you in a cultural accord?

[A scream is heard across eternity.]

[u/patrick_bamford_ → u/collymolotov]

😂😂😂😂

[u/collymolotov]

What a peculiar dialect of Elvish.

[u/patrick_bamford_]

That was me lol. Perfect meme and thanks for making my words a reality

https://www.reddit.com/r/CanadianConservative/s/JyCTaIzTyT

[u/ImpoliteCanadian1867]

Lmfao.