Newsgroups: rec.arts.books.tolkien Subject: Re: Book One (was: Text Files of LOTR) Summary: Expires: References: <8es42o$39l$1@nnrp1.deja.com> <8es6j9$678$1@nnrp1.deja.com> <8f1sub$aqe$1@nntp9.atl.mindspring.net> Sender: Followup-To: Distribution: Organization: Keywords: Cc: Quoth "Öjevind Lång" <<>>: [Snip Chapter Two] > Steuard, perhaps you would take on doing a digest of Chapter Three? :-) Only too pleased. I hope that this etext will be of use to everyone who looks for one in the future. ----------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER THREE THREE IS COMPANY Despite Frodo's resolution to leave at once, he was in truth very reluctant to start, now that it had come to the point. One afternoon two or three weeks after Gandalf's warning (or maybe four, or perhaps just one; Frodo spent most of the days that followed drunk, and rather lost track of time), Frodo went to the wizard for advice. "Gandalf," he asked, voice filled with concern, "I _can't_ just vanish without a trace. After Bilbo's farewell stunt, I'd never be able to look the old hobbit in the eye again if I didn't keep up the family tradition. Like father, like son, you know." Gandalf, confused, said, "Father? What are you talking about? Bilbo was your first and second cousin, once removed either way... I should know, I had to sit through two and a half hours of old Gaffer Gamgee's genealogy lectures at the party. Seating me next to him was one of Bilbo's little jokes." "Oh, well, you know," Frodo fumbled, "Bilbo _did_ have the Ring and all, and my mother was quite comely when she was a lass... the whole thing has been discussed before, though not generally in polite company. I'd rather not talk about it. And anyway, this isn't getting me any closer to an excuse to leave." "Don't worry, Frodo," replied Gandalf. "I thought you might prove to be hesitant, so I've taken some steps of my own to provide for a suitably ignominious departure for you." Just as Frodo gave Gandalf a sharp, suspicious look, a hammering sound came down the hall from the front door. "What in the heavens is that?" cried Frodo. "Unless I miss my guess," Gandalf explained, "those will be your creditors. I took the liberty of closing your bank accounts and taking out a number of short term loans in your name from some of your competitors in the 'Sharkey' business. As I recall, they come due today. Incidentally, I've got to be off to, er, scout out the road ahead, so I'll just slip out and catch up with you later. Look for me in Bree!" And with that, the old wizard dashed off and was gone. Frodo leapt out of his chair in a panic, as the hammering on the door became more insistent. "What have you done with my money?" he yelled in the direction Gandalf had run, but he knew that chasing the wizard would only waste valuable escape time. Fortunately, Pipsqueak and Mobster were visiting for the day, accompanied by Pipsqueak's annoying younger brother Fatty, and Sam was back in the cellar doing some unspecified repairs. Quickly, Frodo rounded up his friends and explained the situation. "The Sackville-Baggins 'family' is here to take everything they can get their grubby hands on," Frodo explained, "and that includes me and all of my friends. We'd better clear out in short order if we don't want to end up at the bottom of Bywater Pool. Quickly, now, run through the hole and grab everything valuable that isn't bolted down: the thought of the Sackville-Bagginses getting a hold of my things makes me sick, and anyway, I'll be broke if we don't pile up some of this loot before we go." Quickly, the five hobbits scattered throughout the hole, filling old pillow cases with whatever they could carry. Frodo had a strong door, but now the pounding gave way to a repeated ramming sound; he knew they didn't have much time. He met Pipsqueak, Mobster, and Fatty in the study as they had agreed: it was on the lefthand side of the hall (going in) like all the best rooms, for these were the only ones to have windows large enough for a desperate hobbit to climb out in an emergency. After a tense minute's delay, Frodo shouted back into the hole. "Sam!" he called. "Sam! Time!" "Coming, sir!" came the answer from far within, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. "I was just saying farewell to Rosi--um, the beer-barrel in the cellar." Frodo looked down at Sam's hand. "Give me that Ring," he snapped, as he yanked the ancient artifact off of Sam's finger. With that, they all scrambled out of the window along with their bags of loot. Just at that moment, a great crash came from the hall as the door finally gave way. "Sam," said Frodo once they were outside, "take this key to your father, and tell him to hold on to it. We're going need it when we come back for revenge. Then cut along the Row and meet us as quick as you can at the gate in the lane beyond the meadows. We are not going through the village tonight. Too many ears pricking and eyes prying." Sam ran off at full speed, while Frodo and the others loaded the cart that Mobster had fortunately brought along that morning. The sun went down. Sad and frightening sounds came from within Bag End in the dark, as the Sackville-Bagginses wrecked and looted the place in their search for Frodo. Once the cart had been hastily packed, Frodo sent Mobster and Fatty with it on ahead. Mobster was, as a rule, terrible company on a hike, and Fatty was a hundred times worse. "Sam and Pipsqueak and I will meet you at the safehouse in Crickhollow the day after tomorrow," he said, and they drove away as quietly yet quickly as they could. Frodo looked back at the dark black windows of Bag End, some of which were being smashed out as he watched. One of the windows near the cellar seemed to have a ripped piece of a hobbit lass's dress torn and fluttering on a nail. He waved his hand to his long home. "Good-bye!" he said, and then turned and (following Bilbo, if he had known it) hurried after Pipsqueak down the garden path. Taking the most secret route they knew, they jumped over the low place in the hedge at the bottom and took to the fields, passing into the blessed concealment of darkness like a cattle rustler into the grasses. They met Sam at the gate, and proceeded along the deserted lane for a mile or two, at which point they cut off into the fields to throw off pursuit. After some time they crossed the Water, and made their way toward the hilly country to the south. "Well, I'll say this," remarked Frodo as he looked back into the valley of Hobbiton and back to the Hill, where tiny flames had begun to rise from the vicinity of Bag End, "that _was_ quite an exit. I wonder if I'll ever be able to show my face in that valley again?" Sam and Pipsqueak were walking on ahead exchanging dirty stories, and Frodo's question went unanswered. The three friends walked on and on into the night. Eventually, the moon set, and after Pipsqueak nearly fell into a deep streambed for the third time, the hobbits agreed that they should stop where they were and sleep for the night. Of course, none of them had thought to take any bedding with them on the trip, so they all curled up on top of the tree roots nearby, ignoring the soft, comfortable bed of fir-needles that covered the ground beyond the roots. They set no watch: they had drawn lots, but when Frodo and Sam noticed Pipsqueak cheating they all decided it was a lost cause and went to bed. A few creatures came and looked at them as they slept. A fox passing through the wood on business of his own stopped several minutes and sniffed. "Hobbits!" he thought. "And sleeping out of doors under a tree at that. There's something mighty queer behind this. I'd better head off to tell my friends Bombadil, Gandalf, and Elrond all about it in short order. Good thing I can speak Westron." The next morning came, pale and clammy. The three friends went on walking through the trees, and Frodo began to chant to himself in a low voice: The Road goes ever on and on, and on and on and on and on, and on and on the Road has gone, why did I let *Mobster* drive the cart? Sam and Pipsqueak stopped and gave Frodo an odd look, but when he didn't respond they all went on their way, deeper into the wood. The sun was beginning to get low and the hobbits had just passed into a stand of beech trees when they heard hoofbeats on the road behind them. "Quick!" whispered Frodo, staring back the way they had come. "They must have found our tracks sooner than we thought. Hide behind the trees!" He turned back around, and realized that his friends hadn't needed his advice: they had already run a good ways into the wood and buried themselves under a pile of leaves. Frodo himself only had time to duck behind a nearby statue of a Pukel-man when a tall black horse came into view. On it sat a large black man, wearing a dark, dark grey cloak and hood. When the horse reached the statue level with Frodo it stopped, and the black man started looking from side to side, breathing heavily. A light breeze blew in Frodo's direction, and Frodo caught a whiff of a terrible smell like last Easter's missing egg. He gagged, and the black man stared toward his hiding place and began to climb off of his horse. But at that moment there came a sound like mingled song and laughter. The black man started to tap his foot, then hum along with the music. Finally, he started singing out loud, and then suddenly realized what he was doing. He got an extremely sheepish look on his face, leapt up on his horse, and rode away in utter embarrassment. "Elves!" exclaimed Sam, coming with Pipsqueak to Frodo's side. "Elves, sir!" Frodo nodded, and as the voices drew nearer, their song became clearer: O! What are we doing, And where are we going? We're soon barbecuing! The river is flowing! O! tra-la-la-lally up out of the valley! O! What are we seeking, And where are we making? The faggots are reeking! The bannocks are baking! O! tril-lil-lil-lolly the vally was jolly, ha! ha! Well, okay, not that much clearer, but Elves are like that. Nevertheless, Sam stood enchanted. "Is it true, Mr. Frodo, that Elves have drugs the like of which no mortal has ever known? It certainly sounds like it." Frodo answered, with awe but not without disappointment. "Yes, Sam. These are, indeed, High Elves. Sadly, they share not their precious drugs with outsiders. Still, they can be good company, and they sure throw a great barbecue." As the Elves drew near, Frodo stepped out into the path. "Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo!" he said in his most friendly tones. The Elves appeared confused. "What do you mean, Frodo, that your sister has a wombat through her tea-time?" Frodo cursed under his breath, and swore a silent oath to himself never to trust Bilbo's language lessons again. The Elf went on, "No matter. You look weary and hungry; would you like to come with us to dinner?" "Certainly, good people," replied Frodo greatfully, for the dinner invitations of the High Elves are rare and prized indeed, "but how do you know my name?" "We have watched you long," they laughed, "and your father Bilbo before you." At this, Frodo winced, but they took no notice. "Your adventures with that young Cassiopiea Took were quite amusing, and as for Bilbo, well..." Frodo was now blushing furiously, and the Elves (together with Sam and Pipsqueak) simply laughed again and said no more. They passed on into the night, until they came to a clearing in the wood. In the clearing, there stood a ring of great upright standing stones, connected from top to top with other great stone slabs all around the circle. "Welcome to Sto-wan-hensh, our hall of feasts," said Gildor, the leader of the Elves. "You are fortunate: it is almost time for supper." Even as Gildor spoke, an Elf sighting along two tall stones cried out, "The stars are now in place! It's ten o'clock; soup's on!" Torches and bonfires leapt into life all around the stone circle, and soon the entire company was happily eating barbecued fox and toasted cornbread. A large flat stone in the center of the ring had been scrubbed clean, and was surrounded by blazing fires that heated it almost until it glowed; an Elf was frying bacon on its top. The hobbits tried not to feel disappointed when the High Elves didn't offer them any _miruvor_ when it was passed around, but other than that the evening was perfect. Frodo soon decided to share some of his fears and concerns with Gildor as they ate. "Gildor, what would a black man be doing in the Shire? We were pursued by one today, and he only left when he heard your company approach." "A black man? In the Shire?" said Gildor doubtfully. "I have never heard of such a thing, not since the old days of the Kings and their battles with Angmar. Just about everyone in this part of the world is Caucasian, and that's a fact." "And yet," explained Frodo, "he was there, and I was frightened. I've never been comfortable around minorities." From the background, Pipsqueak spoke up, "Be sure to tell him about the smelling! I'm sure it is very important!" "Well," Frodo said to Gildor, "he did have this awful odor..." Gildor cut Frodo off sharply. "Hold it right there. This story is racist enough as it is; we don't need any comments about 'Black Breath' making it worse." "Right. We'll drop the subject," said Frodo. "Nevertheless, I _am_ pursued, even before I have left the Shire. I am supposed to meet Gandalf in Bree, but I don't know how I'll even make it that far, or what to do if he isn't there. I'm at a loss, I'm frightened, and I'm bearing a terrible burden on which may rest the fate of all Middle-earth. Can you give me any advice?" "No. Yes." said Gildor. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Just a couple of comments on this chapter. First of all, I hope nobody takes the "black rider" comments badly; I figured it would be a good way to parody the "Tolkien is racist" folks. Second, I rather like the idea of making the Elves throughout the parody "_The Hobbit_ type" Elves rather than "LotR type" Elves. Third and finally, I have no idea who else might want to take a turn, so volunteers are welcome. (It might be good to post a quick note claiming the next chapter before you start writing, to try and avoid overlap... though propagation times being what they are that may not help much. Enjoy! Steuard Jensen