Article: 239843 of rec.arts.books.tolkien Path: news.uchicago.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.erols.net!newsfeed1.swip.net!swipnet!nntpserver.swip.net!not-for-mail From: "Öjevind Lång" <<>> Newsgroups: alt.fan.tolkien,rec.arts.books.tolkien Subject: E-text Book Four: IX A Night in Disgiliath Lines: 133 X-Newsreader: Microsoft Outlook Express 4.72.3110.5 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V4.72.3110.3 Message-ID: Date: Sun, 24 Jun 2001 22:49:57 +0200 NNTP-Posting-Host: 212.151.31.66 X-Complaints-To: news-abuse -aaatt- swip -daht- net X-Trace: nntpserver.swip.net 993415653 212.151.31.66 (Sun, 24 Jun 2001 22:47:33 MET DST) NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 24 Jun 2001 22:47:33 MET DST Organization: A Customer of Tele2 Xref: news.uchicago.edu alt.fan.tolkien:69216 rec.arts.books.tolkien:239843 A NIGHT IN DISGILIATH Sam looked at Frodo's dejected back. He saw that the situation called for extreme remedies. Nimbly, he removed a little bottle from the lab kit given him by Dr Faramir. With the ease of an experienced cook and master poisoner, he made a ham sandwich and let some drops from the bottle fall on it. "Oh, Master Frodo!" he called. "Here's a little morsel to put you in a better mood." Frodo stared suspiciously at the sandwich. Then, as the magic of the sandwich worked upon him, his face changed and he wolfed it down as if he had not seen any food for days. "What are you doing?" murmured Spiegel in Sam's ear. He gave a her a crooked grin. "That cordial on the sandwich will give our little weakling some well-needed energy", he said. "He'll just fly the rest of the way, and that's a fact!" Spiegel opened her eyes very wide and stared at Frodo. "I believe you", she choked. Sam followed her gaze and cried out. Frodo seemed to be swaying with the wind where he stood. His feet left the ground, and he began to move in little circles, like a stray balloon. At the very moment when Sam, with a hoarse cry, leapt to pin him to the ground, he left it for good and sailed skywards with a hissing, very balloon-like sound. He gazed down at Sam and Spiegel with eyes the size of beef tomatoes before a cold wind came from the east and blew him in the wrong direction - towards the Great River. As Frodo scudded westwards, Sam and Spiegel sprinted after him so as not to lose sight of him. The grotesque spectacle went on for hours: Frodo jerking and bobbing in the wind and the other two running after him, stumbling and cursing. Sam's language reached positively Trotskyite levels of vituperation. The sun was already nearing the horizon when Frodo floated into the ancient ruined city of Disgiliath, followed by his wheezing, panting attendants. There the magical potion, satisfied with its work, let go of him with a loud bang and he dropped to the ground, rolled over and lay still. Sam and Spiegel ran up to him, panting, and lay down on top of him. Frodo never knew how long it was before he woke up from an evil dream and found that reality was worse. Sam lay straight across his chest, making it hard for him to breathe, and on top of that, one of his hairy feet was pressed against Frodo's mouth. This was *not* the kind of kinky sex he liked! (Besides, his ichtyoerotic personality change was still progressing; even in his half-stifled condition, his loins ached with lust for big, slimy fish to straddle.) "Sam, you addle-pated fool, get off me!" he cried. "Oho, THAT's a new tune from you!" growled Sam, but obliged. He and Spiegel got to their feet and studied the surroundings. They were in the centre of the old commercial district of Disgiliath. Shop windows and malls were all around them. In the centre of the square where Frodo had fallen down, there was a statue of a strange being with huge round ears, an insane grin, fourfingered hands in white gloves and red shorts with big yellow buttons. But the vulgarity of the men from Westernesse had been augmented by the vulgarity of the Men from the East. Everywhere around them there was evidence of their dread presence: the stench of filthy tennis shoes from an uncovered pit, the inscription MARMADÚKH IS A WANKER scrawled on a wall, an old school tie twisted like a rope around the throat of the statue with the big round ears and a whole row of punting-boats tied to the jetty on the nearby River. Frodo sat up. Staggering, he got to his feet. He took a few steps, picked up a loose paving stone and sent it crashing through the window of a shop nearby. "Master Frodo, art thee mazed?" cried Sam, shocked out of his class-conscious diction straight back to the forelock-tugging language of his ancestors. "No, you idiot", grunted Frodo and reeled into the shop. Sam looked closer at it and realized that it was a drink shop. They heard a clinking sound from inside, and then Frodo returned, carrying eight bottles of Westfarthing Chinook. "They are still well-stocked after all these years", he puffed as he sank to the ground. With a greedy gleam in his eyes, he stowed seven of the bottles into his knapsack before opening the last and taking a deep swig. "Is this really the right moment to get drunk?" inquired Spiegel icily. "Yes", replied Frodo simply. Since there was not really much one could say to that, Sam and Spiegel fell silent, watching how Frodo knocked them back until the booze made him talkative. "Do you see that other shop?" he asked, nodding to indicate the object of his conversation. They looked at a little shop with a bow window and a sign above which announced, in faded gold letters: "Aruman's Tattoo Parlour". "Aruman was not always evil", hiccoughed Frodo. "My fa... Bilbo told me that he began his career as an honest shopkeeper. He did piercing as well as tattooing, and the cowboys from the Pelennor Fields used to go there to get their hats surgically removed." "Interesting", remarked Spiegel. "I have thought of getting my nose pierced, but I'm so fat it would simply make me look even more like a cow." "It's bulls that have rings in their noses, you twit", sneered Frodo haughtily. Sam bristled. "Who are you to speak to her like that, Stinky?" he demanded. Frodo gaped stupidly at him and emitted a loud burp. Menacingly, Sam took a step forward. However, at that very moment there was the sound of someone strumming a guitar behind them, and then a well-known voice burst into dreaded song: Im an Elven bard and I'm OK, I sing all night and I sleep all day. They all looked at Maglor's detested figure. Frodo, who seemed to sober up considerably at the sight, muttered in the high-elven speech: "A galaxy went out on the hour of our meeting." Undeterred, Maglor threw back his head and sang: I sang of beer, of lots of beer, and lots of beer there flowed: Of peanuts and of pretzel bags, and boy, the goodies showed. We drank a toast, a second toast, the foam was on our ale, and some took bitter, others stout, and one or two chose pale. And there beyond the counter stod a barmaid plump and fair; The glow from our reefers shone like torches in her hair. Oh, Ivy Bush! Beloved pub! When will we meet again, When will I gaze with love again at every beery stain? Oh, Ivy Bush! Too long I dwelt upon this Hither Shore And drank inferior brands of ale and stared upon the floor. But even travelling steerage I could not escape my curse: Where are the tickets cheap enough to suit my meagre purse? There was silence. No one wanted to applaud for fear of encouraging Maglor. With feigned absent-mindedness, Frodo stared at the River. Suddenly, he arose with a cry. "Beloved! Precious!" he shouted. He started to run towards the River. With a curse, Sam tried to grab his arm and stop him, but was too late. In the River, a beautiful mermaid yoohooed at Frodo, stroking her hair and merrily slapping her fishtail against the water. Frodo was filled with erotic madness. THIS was what he always had desired! He took a flying leap into the water and began to swim towards her with great strokes of his arms. "Come back, Master Frodo!" screamed Sam. In an attempt to turn him back to his old fixations, he whined: "Oh Frodo, me dear, me dear! Come back!" but to no avail. "STOP him!" howled Spiegel. "OK", sad Maglor. He stooped, grabbed a cobble-stone and threw it at Frodo's head, scoring a bull's eye. With a last, despairing PRECIOUS he sank beneath the waves. The mermaid stared at them with big, frightened eyes. Sam looked at Maglor with disgust. "Brilliant!" he commented. "Any other great ideas?" Öjevind