Article: 210664 of rec.arts.books.tolkien Path: uchinews!newsfeed.stanford.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed1.uni2.dk!news.get2net.dk!not-for-mail From: "Raven" <<>> Newsgroups: alt.fan.tolkien,rec.arts.books.tolkien Subject: Book II, Chapter 3 Lines: 405 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-Newsreader: Microsoft Outlook Express 5.00.2314.1300 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2314.1300 Message-ID: Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 21:58:52 +0200 NNTP-Posting-Host: 195.82.200.20 X-Complaints-To: abuse -aaatt- get2 -daht- net X-Trace: news.get2net.dk 960926422 195.82.200.20 (Tue, 13 Jun 2000 22:00:22 MET DST) NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 22:00:22 MET DST Organization: get2net Internet Kunde Xref: uchinews alt.fan.tolkien:34589 rec.arts.books.tolkien:210664 Heyall! Here's chapter 3 of Book II of the E-text: The Lords of the Ring. I have emailed my text in HTML-format to Steuard and Sharp. That format supports bold text and italics, but I will post only plain text to the NG's. Since plaintext does not support those text formats, I have used *bold* and ~italics~. The Tildes therefore do not mark explicitly sexual material (to Prem's chagrin and Andúril's delight?), but surround words and passages intended to be in italics. If you lot enjoy reading this half as much as I did writing it, I shall call myself a successful parody author. Steuard, if you still have some slots free in Book IV, I would like one. ===================================================== Later that day, after a couple of dinners, the hobbits held a meeting in Bilbo's room. Morrie and Pipsqueak were angry when they heard that Sam, having been eavesdropping outside the Council, had been chosen as Frodo's companion. "It's so unfair," said Pipsqueak between two seed-cakes. "Instead of cutting off his ears as a warning to the lower classes against listening in on their betters, El Rond ~rewards~ him for his presumption!" Morrie had explained to Pipsqueak about the freely-growing Cannabis Sativa probably found in the South, and Pipsqueak was as eager to go there as Morrie was. "We should all go," said Bilbo. "Winter is coming on, and spending it under a warm sun would do my old bones quite a favour. ~When the North Wind rules the land and sleeting snows tear face like sand when Sun is seen an hour a day 'tis best to be quite far away.~ Not that it is cold and drafty in El Rond's House; quite the contrary. But the out-houses are just that - out-houses, and not heated." The Hobbits spent several weeks at Rivendell, wondering why it took so long to decide who were to go South with Frodo and Sam, and so long to get started. But they didn't fret. For one thing, Frodo consented to lending the Ring to his hobbit friends now and again, including to Bilbo on one occasion. Since hobbits are so singularly capable of sneaking, unseen and unheard, El Rond never found out about it. Nor did Gandalf, which would have been disastrous: wizards are wed to celibacy in a way far more fundamental than Frodo had been until recently, and he would have been certain in his envy to direct El Rond's attention towards the adventurous hobbits' adventures. Luckily the deceptively perceptive wizard was busy in conference with El Rond most of the time. Occasional nightly clinking of glass and sagging, blood-shot eyes in the mornings indicated to the hobbits what the two were sometimes conferring about. Strider was gone, officially in the company of El Rond's two *sons*. Where Arwen was, nobody knew. Officially. Still, autumn was fading into winter. The nights outside became crisp and cloudless, and ghoulishly cold upon the bare earth; and they became long. When it was not Frodo's turn to have the Ring, he often stood outside watching the stars. Particularly the constellation of Cassiopeia intrigued him, having nearly the same name as someone he had known (or tried to know). One of the elves told him that the constellation was supposedly the ~throne~ of the beautiful princess Cassiopeia, but the recently awakened Frodo quietly disagreed. One day he asked Gandalf about the Ring. "Why is it that the Ring confers invisibility only to some who wear it? I become invisible, Bilbo became invisible, but I noticed that Sam did not on the occasion when he lent it." Gandalf shrugged. "It's just the way of the Ring," he said. "Some become invisible, some do not." He refrained from offering his opinion: since the Ring was a tool of seduction, it would confer invisibility to those with faces like last week's manure with maggots in it. Those with plain or even beautiful faces would not need their features to be hidden from the eyes of the seductees. "Are you coming too," asked Frodo. "I believe I am, but I am not sure," replied the wizard. Frodo, who was not altogether thrilled at the prospect, asked: "Why should you go?" "To keep an eye on the Ring, of course, and the Bearer." But Gandalf did not reveal the secret reasons why both he, El Rond, and Aragon were so eager to see the Ring destroyed: To Gandalf, forced to remain celibate by his profession, the Ring would be but a penis-ring, tormenting him with its very availability while it existed, and the opportunities it offered. El Rond suspected what was happening in his House by the power of the Ring. His wife being long gone, he disliked the thought of other people getting what was no longer available to him. And as for Aragon, he hated and feared the thought that it might come between himself and Arwen. The hobbits had spent the most pleasant two months of their lives in the House of El Rond, when the scouts began to return. Travelling undercover, they had searched diligently for the ~nazdaq~, but neither they nor the G-men of Sauron had been found. Only those who had gone West brought tidings of trouble, from The Forsaken Inn, from Bree and from the Shire, where irate mobs were searching high and (most often) low for Frodo and his companions. But since they were not heading home, this did not trouble them much as yet. El Rond summoned them to him. He looked searchingly at Frodo, who returned an innocent look. "The time has come," he said. "It is high time that the Ring leave this house. Not just you, but the Ring also. We agreed, remember?" "Yes," sighed Frodo. "I will go with Sam." "Then I must appoint your companions," said El Rond. "How about Sam, Margarita, and young Findu-lass", thought Frodo, but he was wise enough not to think it aloud. El Rond said: "Nine shall you be: Nine Walkers, to oppose the Nine Nazdaq men, who are evil. With you, as your leader, shall Gandalf go." Unspoken: "...to keep an eye on you, that you don't slip out of our agreement." Spoken: "For the rest, I shall appoint members of the other Free Peoples: Elves, Dwerrows, and Men." "And Women," said Arwen, who was standing a little away. El Rond ignored her routinely. "With you shall go Lego-lass for the Elves and Giggly for the Dwerrows. Two Men shall go: Aragon and Boromir. Boromir has fought Sauron before, and knows the procedures of his police force." Unspoken: "And I really need to get Aragon away from my daughter." El Rond did not know how patently too late that was. "That leaves two," said Frodo. "I know that Morrie and Pipsqueak are willing." ~Oh yes, both willing and able~. "And I am willing to send them," replied El Rond darkly. Morrie snickered behind his face, with practiced skill. The Sword of Elendil was reforged by Elvish smiths. Not only did they put the two pieces together, which requires great skill if the joint is to be as strong as if the blade were newly-forged, but with the improvements in metallurgy which had been make during the millennia, they shaved a pound and a half off its weight, yet leaving the blade far stronger and less brittle than it had been before. In Bilbo's room the old hobbit was busy giving Frodo advice. Frodo was busy feigning attentiveness: Bilbo was now an old hobbit, and he still had a bit of fortune. "What about that sword of yours," Frodo said suddenly. "Mine broke when I was cutting a slice of bread with it, and since you are not coming, you won't need yours." "Forget it, young rascal," answered Bilbo. "It's been with me for a long time, and it's dear to me." "And your mail-shirt?" "Frodo, my lad! Why are you trying to get worldly things out of me? Don't you know that advice is the best that a hobbit of my age can give to you?" Then he continued lecturing Frodo on the merits of stealth and burgling. With his mouth Frodo said: "I cannot even begin to thank you for this store of wisdom that you give to me." In reply, Bilbo sang: ~I lie upon my bed and miss the things that I have done with every lovely lass I've kissed and more - with every one. I walk upon the fragrant grass recalling seasons gone recalling everything that was recalling actions done. I look into the fire and see myself when I was strong. Whatever will become of me at death? That won't be long. I look into my room and there are many things I stole. But now I have a mounting fear: a six feet, yawning hole~. Thus singing, he suddenly nodded off. Frodo, taking some of Bilbo's advice, helped himself to what Bilbo had refused to give him, and tiptoed out of the room. It was a cold evening in the cold end of December when the Company set out. Only the four hobbits were (moderately) high-spirited: their mood had been boosted by much that had been given them, without El Rond's knowledge, although they of course regretted having to leave those givers behind. Boromir had another way to improve his spirits. He raised his horn. "Always before setting out on a journey I do this," he said. He put his horn to his lips. Then, "glug glug glug." He grinned. "You didn't seriously think that I use this horn to play music or battle-blasts, did you," he said as he refilled it from El Rond's farewell barrel of Margarita. Gandalf looked at him appraisingly: wizards, too, like to have stores of liquor with them; and the store in Gandalf's huge wizard's hat was enough to float a boat, or in other words, almost his fill for one evening. "You said that we were to be nine, Master El Rond," said Frodo. "But here is Gates the ass with us, and that makes ten. We really should leave him here. I'll go down to three silver pennies." El Rond just looked at the animal in disgust. To Frodo: "You do not have three silver pennies." Actually Frodo did have more than that, recently aquired; but he was not going to let El Rond (or Bilbo) know this. El Rond addressed the Company. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Viagra. Only on him is any charge laid: neither to cast the Ring away, nor let any outside the Company or myself handle it, nor sell it. The rest of the Company may follow him as long as chance allows or their travelling cheques last." Now many cheerless days and weeks followed. They made camp during the day, lighting no fire, hiding from spies and elil. During the dark hours they walked as swiftly as they could, stopping only to pass hraka now and again. The icy wind made that very uncomfortable. They always buried their hraka, to leave as few traces as possible for elil to follow. Without Gandalf's Margarita, which he grudgingly doled out on rare occasions, the others would have found the journey unbearable. Their first serious adventure after leaving Rivendell happened one evening, when they saw a knight come thundering towards them from behind a nearby rock. Another followed swiftly behind; he bore a spear in his left hand, and his right one was missing. They were riding rather fast horses, and couching his spear, the foremost one aimed it at Lego-lass. "Ai, ai, Sir Breuse Sans Pité is come," she cried. But Aragon leaped towards the approaching knight, beheading his horse with his sword. Sir Breuse tumbled to the ground. The other knight couched his spear with some left-handed difficulty and aimed it at Aragon, but Boromir leaped forward, cutting of his remaining hand. "As Sir Blyaunte cut off Sir Bartelot's right hand, so I have cut off his left one," said Boromir. Morrie, true to his character, leaped forwards and aimed a savage kick at the stunned and prostrate man's voonerables. Immediately the tittering of the other hobbits and the pain in his toes made him realize that, when kicking a man's voonerables, waiting until that man has had his bloody plate armour removed is a good idea. Especially when you are a barefooted hobbit, and not a heavily-booted little man of the Night Watch. He shot a venomous glance at Pipsqueak. "Eat hraka, *Pipkin*!" Pipsqueak stopped laughing immediately, clenching his fists and baring his front teeth. In the meantime, Aragon had unlaced the fallen man's helmet and beheaded him. And some miles behind them, a female figure looked at her fiancé with surprised appraise. "So there is some spunk in that clod after all," she thought to herself. "Who was that man," asked Pipsqueak. "That was Sir Breuse Sans Pité," replied Boromir. "The worst coward and murderer who ever put a 'Sir' before his name. He especially enjoyed killing ladies. Aragon must have avenged a whole schoolful of them with that stroke." "What does 'Breuse Sans Pité' mean?" "It means 'the pitiless bruce'," said Frodo, "unless my Australian is off the mark." As the Company settled under their blankets after that night's march, Morrie heard Sam singing, a single line: ~...for he knew his toes could feel it...~ An almost inaudible snickering told him that Frodo and Pipsqueak had also heard that. Some days later they saw the Misty Mountains marching almost straight across their path. Nearly due south three mountains arose above the main ridge. Giggly began to smile warmly. "There they stand, the three mountains of Moira," he giggled. "Oh, Khazad-Mum, the Dwerrow-wench, who is called the Golden Pit. Above her house stand the three peaks erect: Barazinbar the Hardhorn, Zirak-Zigil the Silverthrust, and Bundushathûr the Risinghead. Long has she been absent from her house, we know not where though we know why." "Why," asked Pipsqueak. "She was the undying wife of the Dwerrowen kingdom under the three mountains," replied Giggly. "But then, many lives of ordinary Dwerrows ago, a terrible menace was awoken as the Dwerrows were digging in the mines beneath the house. The people were scattered, and Moira lost." "The ~wife~ of the Dwerrowen ~kingdom~?" whispered Sam to Frodo. "Yes, the Dwerrows do tell strange tales concerning their lives and fates in this world," replied Frodo. "It is nothing compared to the religious practices of certain pagan peoples of Men." "It is for the Dim Rill dale between the three mountains that we are making," said Gandalf. "There is a great ski resort there,on the west side, where we may rest, and rent skis for the journey across the pass of the Hardhorn Gate." "For whose money?" muttered Frodo. "I have none left - that the others know about, at least. But many have IOU's with my names on them, both Underhill and Baggins." The Company started climbing the pass. But soon they noticed that something was wrong. In the far distance they could see the hotel, and ski lifts leading upslope from it. There should have been smoke coming out of the chimneys, and the ski lifts should have been teeming with activity, as should the snowy slopes. But all was still. Huffing and puffing with the exertion (especially Gandalf, the heavy smoker), they reached the front door of the hotel. There was a sign on it. "Temporarily closed by the health authorities." The sign was written both in Westron and in the Black Speech of Mordor, and so they could guess what the real cause and motive were. Steel bars behind the windows prevented them from burgling their way in. Only Frodo breathed a sigh of relief, as they plodded on. Snow began to fall, and so did the temperature. This, however, did not bother the Company much, except when they had to bare their backsides to pass hraka in some nook among the cliffs, wiping with snow that was happily newly-fallen and soft, not composed of hard sharp grains. Nor were they troubled much by the rising wind, which made the snow swirl. El Rond had provided them with amply warm clothes, made of double reindeer skins with the inner layer having the hairs inwards: a trick learned from the Lossoth. Even the hobbits had put on soft boots of that make, except Morrie, who wore steel-capped boots like Strider. Worst was the loss of visibility, but both Aragon and Gandalf had been that way before, and did not need to see their road much ahead to follow it. But other perils did the cruel pass have in store for them. The wind wailed among the stones. Rocks came crashing down from the unseen heights above. Gates the ass shivered and gibbered, and only with threats and continual booting did they get the animal to move forward. "This is a weather for penguins, not asses," muttered Sam. Eerie noises began wailing, shrieking and laughing maniacally. Exclamation marks came in fives from the darkness around them. The hobbits grew uneasy. "Is it the ~stallo~ we hear?" asked Pipsqueak. "Or a sort of ~draug~ of the mountain?" But he was not answered. Suddenly a gigantic dark figure loomed in the path just before them. They stopped dead, and two other figures appeared beside the first one. The dark figures strode forwards, appearing to shrink in size but becoming sharper as they came closer, until before them stood three customs officials with leering grins. "I feared this," whispered Gandalf. "These roving bands of customs officials and immigration authorities often haunt this pass. It is difficult to pass them by." ~Unless you leave them all your liquor and tobacco, and don't belong to some minority. But who will lose his liquor and tobacco to these creatures? Certainly not I~. "So," sneered the foremost figure. "Anything to declare?" At once the Company began shouting abuse at the obnoxious men in uniforms. "Abusing government officials, eh?" Suddenly Aragon, Boromir and Gandalf leaped forward, Giggly and Lego-lass following. There was a short, sharp affray, and soon the customs officials lay bound and gagged beside the path. Morrie, with his inherited and ferocious animosity towards such creatures, hoped that their thick greatcoats would not keep them from freezing to death in the blizzard. He made sure to kick them in the voonerables, hard and cruelly, this time with boots on, and his victims without plate armour. Sam was little less hateful towards them, representatives of an oppressive bourgeois State as he perceived them to be. The same went for Frodo: he saw them as representatives of Communist oppression and control of free citizens. The Company helped themselves from the pockets of the customs officials, and moved on. But the respite was short. Other such bands lay in wait further up. "Anything to declare?" ~Sock bam bonk~ ~Rummage~ Plod plod plod "Anything to declare?" ~Sock slam grind ouch~ ~Rummage~ Plod plod "What's in your packs then?" ~Bonk bang oof ding you big oaf~ Soon it became obvious that they could not continue that way. There were too many such bands, and they increased in size as the Company ascended towards the crown of the pass that marked the border between Eregion and Wilderland. Soon, if they continued, they would be overcome, thrown in the slammer, and have all their contraband seized. The last few bands of customs officials had looked with scorn and contempt at the hobbits: "Well what have we here? ~Minorities~? Look rather ~minor~ to ~me~." ~Sock sock aargh boink bang sod you chtong - rummage~ They stopped beneath a half-shelf that offered some shelter from prying eyes. There they spent the remainder of the night, cold but not altogether cheerless. At least this good had come of their encounters with the roving bands of customs officials: they had some loot to examine and divide. It wasn't much. The wandering tribes of customs officials of the Misty Mountains, while seizing anything in the possession of anything with a pulse, a flask and a purse, were equally wont to spending it again swiftly. It was Morrie who discovered the most valuable treasure. As he, his back towards the rest of the Company, was rummaging through some of the take, he found a little plastic bag with some dust in it. Great was his pleasure when he discovered it to be a teaspoonful of Vala dust, a very powerful narcotic. Great was his chagrin when, as he was gloating over his prize, Pipsqueak, peering over his shoulder, gleefully announced his find to the others in that loud, high-pitched voice of his. Morrie was forced to share. It was something which he had never understood the point in - when it was his belongings being shared. Gandalf forbade the Company to use any of the precious dope at that time and place. "We are high enough up as it is," he said. "I wasn't going to use it myself," Morrie sulked. "*Some* of us know how dangerous that stuff is." Morning came, revealing black specks further up the path. Aragon, experienced smuggler as he was, knew them for more customs officials. "We cannot go that way," he said. But turning back down, the Company encountered the largest and fiercest band of customs officials that they had yet met. Standing a furlong down the path, they grinned expectantly as the Company approached. Their leader strode forwards. In his hands were visa waivers, green and menacing, slips of stiff paper almost like cardboard. "Halt," he said. "You must first fill in these, if you want to pass." They took the visa waivers, and wearily they started filling them out, none too truthfully. The leader of the customs officials watched them writing, closely. Then he collected the waivers and examined them. "Hold!" he shouted. "These are filled out in the wrong colours! It has to be with yellow ink, signatures in red! You have written the whole lot in black or blue. At it again!" Boromir looked at Aragon. Aragon looked at Boromir. ~Crash bang ouch splotch bang slam crack~ ~Pant pant~ ~Grind kick hate snarl biff sock pant bite sock~ ~Pant~ ~Rummage~ Finally the road was clear. Green visa waivers, many of them torn to confetti, lay scattered upon the path or fluttered in the light wind that came down from the pass. The Company began descending the path again. The customs officials of Charadhras had defeated them. This time. A slender figure slid quietly into hiding between two boulders, watching them pass by. In her pockets were a few items which the Company had missed in the dark when rummaging through the belongings of the customs officials further down Craban.