Article: 246630 of rec.arts.books.tolkien Path: news.uchicago.edu!newsswitch.lcs.mit.edu!feed2.onemain.com!feed1.onemain.com!newsfeeds.belnet.be!news.belnet.be!news.tele.dk!small.news.tele.dk!192.71.180.34!newsfeed1.swip.net!swipnet!nntpserver.swip.net!not-for-mail From: "Öjevind Lång" <<>> Newsgroups: alt.fan.tolkien,rec.arts.books.tolkien Subject: Repost of E-text Chapter Five:II Lines: 262 X-Newsreader: Microsoft Outlook Express 4.72.3110.5 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V4.72.3110.3 Message-ID: Date: Sat, 11 Aug 2001 21:59:12 +0200 NNTP-Posting-Host: 212.151.107.33 X-Complaints-To: news-abuse -aaatt- swip -daht- net X-Trace: nntpserver.swip.net 997560007 212.151.107.33 (Sat, 11 Aug 2001 22:00:07 MET DST) NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 11 Aug 2001 22:00:07 MET DST Organization: A Customer of Tele2 Xref: news.uchicago.edu alt.fan.tolkien:73231 rec.arts.books.tolkien:246630 Since some people apparently have problems reading it, here it is again. I have made a few correctios and additions: THE PASSING OF THE GAY COMPANY Isen riverrun, past HeyHoDen, son of Thengel, son of Fengel, son of Folcwine, son of Folca, son of Walda, relative of Fluffy, and his nephew Eonard, canard sans cojones, unpuissant in battle, at the sight of arrowrain from bow an iceclad shiverer, merest of bantlings, and his niece Eowynn, blonde and nubile and never been kissed in the grass ho ho; now wondering what to do to get rid of his gluttonous guest Aragon as the company rode south from the ruin of Isengard, musing how his longfather Yorl (Mercy an his mummery!) Offa'ed the Orcs at the point of time when they were about to overprune their eeniemice in Minas Mickey, his thoughts perkelating through his brain in slow curses and screams when a Rider galloped up from the rear of their line. "My lord", he said to the king, "there are horsemen behind us. As we passed the Fords I thought that I heard them. Now we are sure. They are overtaking us, riding hard." "If we can aFord the Isen, so can they", mused the king (ababbababbarubbalubbafubbaoutoifideasyougulliblesassenachfool), and he commanded everybody to wait. But their pursuers were merely some thirty or so of Aragon's kinsmen from the north, led by one herosuitical Atlantidiniophobet yclept Halberd; and with them also rode the sons of El Rond, Al Ladan and Al Rokar, thirsting to revenge their mother (whose name was a matter of debate) for her long, slow torment in the concert halls of the Orcs as they forced her to listen to the works of Hindemuzgash, Mahlerhúr and Smaughausen. Everybody in the company was gay at the meeting, and the king reJoyced at the news of who they were. "Now that you have your own outfit, I suppose you will ride your separate way?" he said to Aragon. "Indeed I am", responded Aragon. "I know you will dawdle here for quite some time under the pretext of mustering your Riders; but I am in a hurry and will take the Paths of the Living." "Really?" inquired HeyHoDen with raised eyebrows. "Are you sure that is a good idea?" "The best", answered Aragon firmly. "Well, have it your own way", said HeyHoDen. "But do ride with us to Deem's Help first for a barbecue. We will see you off in style." "Thank you, lord; you are most gracious", drooled Aragon. "Perhaps we will meet again", said Eonard without much enthusiasm. "We may", said Aragon. So they arrived at Deem's Help, and the Dunlendish slaves fried hamburgers for their betters, who while waiting to get served watched the highly exotic dancing of a dusky beauty from Harad called Ostrich Flame. When the food was served, Aragon devoured it and asked for more while complaining of the poor fare. "What I wouldn't do for a proper tikka masala!" he groaned as he wolfed down his tenth cheeseburger. "What are the Paths of the Living?" asked Giggly with his eyes averted from the gross sight of the slavering, chomping Aragon. "Thus spoke Malcolm the Seer, in the days of Marve Flexnes, last king of Fornost", said Aragon: The statue's nose has a round black tip, and westward points its four-fingered hand. The Tower trembles; to the amusement parks mice are approaching. The ducks awaken; for the hour is come for the cartoon creatures; at the Stone of Elmer they shall stand again. and hear quacks of a bird in the hills raging Who shall awake them? Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the franchise was given. From the North he shall come, greed shall drive him: He shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Living "And what paths are those?" asked Lego-lass. "Simply a shortcut thrugh the Off-white Mountains that the Rohirrim avoid because they find the toll excessive", answered Aragon. "But Elendil's Heir travels there for free." "Hey, cool!" said Giggly. "Look, one of Isildur's original collaborators was a Dwarf called Harry Cohn. I am collaterally descended from him. Can I have a cut?" "Surely", said Aragon. "No show is complete without a Dwarf." After the meal, HeyHoDen summoned the pathetic, ragtag Rohan peasant army. Grouching: "What is it now?" "My arse is sore from the saddle!" and the like, they reluctantly shuffled closer and formed ragged lines. HeyHoDen looked keenly on them, and with a slight, wry smile he said: "The people of Rohan were always numerous, but ofttimes their bravery has been less impressive than their numbers. However, to encourage you I have retained a few Orkish whipmen, who by joining our side have proved that all Orcs are not evil, despite racist claims to that effect. Húberz, Húmfríkh, Snagfred - keep an eye on them! Where there is a whip there is a will." A number of Orkish overseers in public school uniforms walked forward and saluted the king with their whips. "Together we shall attain glory!" shouted HeyHoDen with glaring, insane eyes. "The victory and the power shall go to Minowara blood, Minnehaha blood, Minotaur bood! Oh, Aragon-san, what a future I have planned for you!" Suddenly, HeyHoDen’s red, glazed eyes focused. He shook his head, looking slightly embarrassed. "Sorry about that", he said. "But that pipeweed the halflings taught me to smoke really is good stuff." And now Aragon sat up on his great big harse. But lo! His massive weight, augmented by unnumbered hamburgers and Frankfurter sausages, was too much for his steed; its legs folded like boiled spaghetti and it hit the ground with a crash, instantly killed by the oppressive weight on its back. A moan of despair arose from the Rohirrim, whose larders were already depleted because of this man. "How fortunate that I can amend this!" said HeyHoDen with a tight smile. "I received a gift from Denethor™ last year and have kept it stabled here at Deem's Help for the fertilizer." At a sign from him, two servants ran off and returned with a huge mûmak. "This is Babar, named for the fabled oliphaunt king of old", declared HeyHoDen, "and this is my parting gift to you. May it carry you far!" Aragon bowed and sat up. For a moment, the mûmak reeled under his weight, but it recovered. Its small eyes looked unhappy, but apart from a bit of ear-flapping, it did not object to the inhumane treatment it was being subjected to. Now everybody took an enthusiastic farewell of the company. The field was full of people waving good-bye: Rohirrim, Dunlendings drafted into the Rohan army on an affirmative action quota programme they would gladly have abstained from, Ments, Ents, Ments disguised as Orcs, Orcs disguised as Ments, Ments disguised as Ents - everybody cheered at the company’s departure, and indeed, grateful they were to be rid of someone with Aragon’s insatiable appetite ("another week and he would have eaten me out of my kingdom!" sighed HeyHoDen to Eonard). And while HeyHoDen went by slow paths in the hills, the Gay Company passed swiftly over the plain, and on the next day in the afternoon they came to Edoras, where Aragon had a spot of trouble persuading Eowynn not to join them. However, the welding torch-like glare from Arwen’s eyes clearly showed that this was the politic thing to do. "Fear not, sugarpuss", whispered Aragon to Eowynn when Arwen happened to look away for a moment. "When this is over I will make you a greater star than Shelob herself, for I mean to restore the Gondor™ entertainment industry to its old glory." Eowynn bit her lip and stared sourly at the ground, but she had to rest content with this promise. When the light of day was come into the sky but the sun was not yet risen above the high ridges in the East, Aragon made ready to depart. He and those with him rode away without anyone bidding them farewell, for Eowynn was sulking in her rooms and her folk did not wish to encourage any further tardiness from their guests. (Aragon's evening meal and breakfast had consumed all the food they had meant to bring to their wartime refuge in the hills.) So they came to the Door to the Paths of the Living. Above its wide arch was a rim of merrily shining red lightbulbs, and jazz music flowed from it like the screaming of tortured Nazdaq. "This is a tasteless door", said Halberd, "and I hate jazz music. I will pass it nonetheless; but does anyone have earstoppers?" No one did. They entered on a file, leading their horses. (The mûmak Babar let out a huge gust of relief as Aragon sat down from it, and meekly followed him under the arch.) An aged ticket collector ambled forwards, but looking at Aragon he fell back again and saluted him by snapping his fingers and doing a moonwalk. Aragon had brought torches from Edoras, and now he went ahead bearing one aloft; and Al Ladan with another went at the rear, and beside him walked Giggly and Lego-lass, rubbernecking. Most of the attractions (apart from a few nightclubs and gambling dens) were closed down, but the magic of the place had kept them spotless and shining; they looked as if they could open at any moment and take admission fees for visiting Queen Berúthiel’s Tea Party, Bottle and the Booze or Cindy Reela's gingerbread house. No barker accosted the company, nor withstood their passage, and yet steadily grew the curiosity of the Dwarf as he went on, most of all because he itched to learn how many marks the various outfits had fleeced on a normal business day. So time unreckoned passed, until Giggly beheld a most curious sight. The road was wide, but now the company came suddenly into a great empty space, and there were no longer any walls upon either side. The greed was so heavy on him that he could hardly walk onwards. Away to the left something glittered in the gloom as Aragon's torch drew near. Then Aragon halted and went to look what it might be. Giggly, who smelled gold, followed him at once, and Lego-lass trailed after him. Aragon kneeled while Al Ladan held aloft both torches. Arwen crossed her arms and gazed at it all with a sort of amused disdain. Before them were the bones of a mighty man. He had been clad in mail, and still his harness lay there whole; but his shoulders and head were in little pieces hat seemed to be slowly growing together. As Giggly watched, two bits of throat melted together with a small hissing sound. "This looks like Boromir™", said Aragon thoughtfully. "He must have been brought here by some kind of tremendous explosion, transmitted here through space and time." "That sounds very far-fetched", remarked Giggly. "Not at all!" declared Aragon. "Fredric Brown uses precisely that idea in a science fiction story of his called 'What Mad Universe' – a glorious read!" "Do you like science fiction?"exclaimed Giggly; a smouldering fire was in his eyes. "I had no idea! I like Brown, but I prefer Clifford Simak and Poul Anderson." "I am more of the hardscience Asimov or Heinlein school", said Aragon. "Have you read the Foundation trilogy?" "My lord Aragon, please!" objected Halberd. "This is hardly the place for this kind of discussion, is it?" Aragon and Giggly looked at each other. "I suppose not", said Aragon with a sigh. "But had I but known this during all those boring evenings… well, let’s look at Boromir™. All the pieces seem to have grown together now." "He was in one piece when we last saw him", remarked Lego-lass. "True. True", said Aragon with a sligtly shifty look. "Well, let’s turn him over." He did so and exclaimed: "He has no face!" "And it does not look as if it’s going to grow back", remarked Giggly, peeking through Aragon’s armpit. "I wonder why?" "Perhaps it got stuck somewhere", said Aragon. "But never mind! Remember that 'the hands of the King are the hands of a healer'! We'll bring him back to life *and* give him a new face." "Can we really do that?" asked Giggly. "Oh, definitely! These are the Paths of the Living. Open that door behind him, Halberd." Halberd obeyed his command. The two men entered the room behind and returned, wheeling and carrying various items of medical apparatus. Together with Giggly and Lego-lass, they donned surgical clothing that Giggly had found, placed Boromir on a bed with castor wheels and assembled around it. After a brief fight over the scalpels between Arwen and Lego-lass they were all set. "Give him 40 cc of Nauglamirin!" commanded Aragon. Halberd obeyed. ”"Give him 220 volt!" Giggly stepped forward and sadistically applied the shock. "He is breathing!" reported Lego-lass. "Ready to electrocute his penis" said Aragon. "Pardon?" said Giggly. "Oh… ah… er.., I mean 'Ready to intubate'", said Aragon with a slight blush. After twenty minutes of hard work, Boromir™ was alive and breathing, and would no doubt have had rosy cheeks if he had been in possession of a face. "And now for a face!" said Aragon merrily. "Behold, I am the renewer!" He placed both hands on Boromir’s head and kneaded it until a howl suddenly burst from the recumbent warrior. Aragon snatched back his hands and exclaimed: "Behold my handiwork!" The others looked and gasped. Boromir had indeed received a new face. It had a long nose with a round black knob at its end; huge upper teeth protuded from his mouth, and he had long, hanging black ears. He also seemed to have acquired a blue cap that rose from his crown like a little tower. "I will restore Minas Tirith to its ancient glory, such as it was when it was known as Minas Mickey and faced Minas Goofy across the River!" declared Aragon. "And who better to start with than the beloved son of Steward Denethor™?" He laughed aloud, a laughter with certain sinister overtones: "Hnyukyukyuk!" The others stared, frozen with shock. Even Giggly, the greediest of Dwarves and hardened by many shady deals, was taken aback. Arwen sucked in her breath with a soft hiss. "Aren't you going a bit too far?" she whispered to Aragon. he looked innocently at ehr and then winked. Boromir™ opened his eyes and asked: "Where am I?" Halberd licked his lips. "In the Paths of the Living", he said. "Is my face here too?" asked Boromir™. "I seemed to lose it – but no, it was just an evil dream." "You have got a new face", said Halberd in a choked voice. He polished his shield with his sleeve and held it up as a mirror before Boromir™, who looked at the reflection. "GAWRSH!" he exclaimed. They all waited, Aragon expressionless but the others in some trepidation. Boromir™ looked intently at his reflection and made a deep, clunking sound in his throat. "I like it!" he declared. They all breathed out, except Aragon, who smiled and discreetly put away a knife he had been holding. "This is but a token of things to come!" he said. "Soon we will be out of the passage. Lead the way, friend Boromir™!" Soon they were indeed out of the tunnel and came into the clear friendly sunshine. They marched onwards, accompanied by an ever growing flock of cheering funlovers. At the head of the Gay Company danced Boromir™, singing: Aragon, Arathon’s son, riding on Babar! Genuflect, show some respect, down on one knee! Seated on his only slightly groaning mûmak, Aragon threw chocolate coins to the multitude, who fell on their knees in the dust, exclaiming "He’s generous! So generous!" Wherever they came the enemies of Gondor™ screamed and fled, for they worshipped film noir and other black arts, but the common people gathered around the Gay Company, and joy and merriment followed them. Öjevind Lång