[24 June 2010 Made a tiny edit to fix something into the form it should have had from the start.] Article: 150725 of alt.fan.tolkien Path: news.uchicago.edu!not-for-mail Newsgroups: rec.arts.books.tolkien,alt.fan.tolkien Subject: E-text: Book VI, Chapter 3: Mount Viagra X-Newsreader: trn 4.0-test70 (17 January 1999) From: <<>> (Steuard Jensen) Lines: 699 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: 128.135.12.7 X-Trace: news.uchicago.edu 1021011890 128.135.12.7 (Fri, 10 May 2002 01:24:50 CDT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 10 May 2002 01:24:50 CDT Organization: The University of Chicago X-SessionID: SIJC8-20416-u4-6587@news.uchicago.edu X-Hash-Info: post-filter,v:1.4 X-Hash: a3de229b 645cbb8f 7324d108 959af079 bd525c65 Date: Fri, 10 May 2002 06:24:50 GMT Xref: news.uchicago.edu rec.arts.books.tolkien:290796 alt.fan.tolkien:150725 Well, yet another chapter far too long in coming I'm afraid, but it's here at last. I've had the finale sketched for quite some time now, but it took a long time to figure out how to get there in an interesting way (and even longer to find time for the necessary research and writing). At any rate, I hope that I've produced a decent climax for our tale, and that you enjoy the chapter. :) A few notes. First, many thanks to David Salo for reminding me of a crucial comment by Gandalf back in Book II, Chapter 2: I must have slept through it just like Frodo did. :) Second, I've gone back to the spelling "Gulible", in part to keep up the wackiness of switching back and forth and in part because it was the original spelling back in Book II. Third, I couldn't find a natural place in this chapter to have Sam make use of the magical sleep-salve that he got from Maglor (in accidental exchange for Elvish mustard), but I hope he finds a use for his oft-replaced gift from Galadriel eventually. Fourth, I couldn't figure out anything clever to do with one of Gollum's famous lines toward the end of this chapter, so I didn't say explicitly what it was at all. If anyone is disappointed that it's gone and has an idea for a good way to parody it, well, let me know. Fifth (this is getting long, eh?), I've left room for later authors to adopt David Salo's non-canonical parody of "Riddles in the Dark" if they want to. Finally, I honestly haven't been able to figure out what to do about the "phial" of Galadriel: it started out as a white stone, but it seems to have become increasingly "phial-like" through Books IV and VI, until in VI.2 it was actually a vial of radioactive goo (VI.2 doesn't say how Sam got hold of it after Sauron took it from Frodo as mentioned in VI.1, either, but that's less of an issue). The vial of radioactive goo is a fun element and I've continued making use of its effects, but the original jewel is important as well; I think that for better or worse they both now belong. I think I'll leave the task of explaining away the radioactive goo for a future author. :) Enough of the preliminaries... I hope you enjoy the chapter! Steuard Jensen ----------------------------------------------- Book VI, Chapter 3 MOUNT VIAGRA As the grey light of morning came again to Mordor, Sam woke and looked about the hollow where he and Gulible had taken refuge the previous night. A foul sump of oily water ringed with lurid algae lay at its bottom, and as he slept Sam had slid down nearly to its edge. Gulible was nowhere to be seen. Unwilling yet to move, Sam thought through the whirlwind of events that had landed him in this unhappy place. Affection, revenge, and simple inertia had carried him this far, but weariness at last led him to frankly consider the task that lay ahead. "Was this the job I was hired to do when I started?" Sam asked himself. "To help Mr. Frodo into his inheritance and then die with him? Well, that is my job, but I'm nowt but a ninnyhammer if I go through with it. I would dearly like to see Bywater again, with Rosie leading the Revolution at my side. Much as I'd like to see Mr. Frodo draw his last breath, this quest is useless; it's high time I cut my losses and head home. "Still," he thought, "I can't think somehow that Gandalf and Elrond would have sent Mr. Frodo on this errand if there hadn't a' been any hope of his coming back with more money for them to take. What do I have to show for all the work I've done these past months? A deed signed over that nobody will believe, Mr. Frodo gone so I can't bring him back to the Shire to set off the Revolution, and a lot o' wasted blackmail that won't do no good either way. If I'm to get anything out of this at all, the Ring must go into the Fire and Frodo's got to live through it... for a little while. Why am I left all alone to make up my mind?" At that thought, Sam began to wonder where Gulible had gone. He bent his knees to stand, only to find that his feet had dipped down near the water in the night and were now covered by a thin layer of ruby red growth, moist and sparkling in the growing daylight. With a cry, he scraped the algae away as best he could, using dirt and gravel to scour it off. Eventually, the worst was gone, and all that was left was a light silvery sheen that persisted for days. Sam walked up out of the hollow. The land all about was dreary, flat, and drab-hued: a sparsly populated urban wasteland strugling to maintain a meager existence between the inhabited regions of Mordor. Wide and featureless vacant lots, some dry and barren, some filled with tall brown grasses, were interspersed with occasional buildings: broken and tumbled remnants of failed restaurants, motels, and convenience marts lined the roads. A few miles to the north-west, a pair of long-abandoned apartment buildings stood like sombre grey ghosts, for few would tolerate the long commute. South-eastward, far off like an erect sapphire tower, rose the Mountain. Strange smokes spilled forth from its peak and rolled down its sides to the plains below. Nothing was moving in the direction of the crossroads where they had made their escape, but Sam thought he saw a distant hint of motion to the east. A great thoroughfare led that way: the road that led to the Dark Tower itself. Its golden cobblestones were worn and dirty with the passage of many feet, but it remained in good repair, and taking care not to be seen Sam nevertheless moved quickly. Soon a small figure came in view, dancing wildly in the middle of the path. Sam crept forward stealthily, until finally he peered out from behind a crumbling wall only to see that the flailing form was that of Gulible, who was not just dancing but singing as well. He marvelled that anyone other than Tom Bombadil could spout such nonsense. But his amusement soon turned to alarm, for Sam heard far off a noise of tramping feet and harsh voices: Orcs were coming up the road from Barad-dur, and soon Gulible's crazed behavior would mean discovery and torture for them both. Sam leapt from his hiding place and shoved the loony off the path, tackling him to the ground on the far side where they were hidden by the tall growth. As the lunatic lay on the grass, Sam held his mouth closed to keep him silent. At first, Gulible struggled to break free, but as the Orcs drew nearer he went silent and limp. Intent on their destination, the Orcs passed swiftly without so much as a glance to either side. Their voices receded into the distance, and Sam finally removed his hand allowed Gulible to speak. "Ach, thanks," he said. "We was thirsty, yess, and we sipped from the water where we slept." At this, Sam realized that what he had taken for dirt on Gulible's face was in fact a residue of dull brownish mold. "We thinks just a few sipses couldn't hurt, _saddam_, but one was enough. It tickled our throat, yes, and burned our brain into dust. Dusst! We didn't come to our senses until you knocked us down, no, _saddam_." "Well," said Sam, "I've been thinking a bit, and I reckon that going on to the Mountain will be the end of us, like as not. Maybe we'd best be getting away while there's a chance, and leave this dreary land to Sauron and Mr. Frodo." "It mustn't say such things!" exclaimed Gulible with unexpected force. "The Precious must go into the Fire, yess, or else we'll never be normal again, no, _saddam_. It gnaws at our mind all the time, _saddam_, near or far, filling us with longings and lusst. If the Precious goes we'll have a healthy brain again, yes, and p'raps other rewards, too." "But see here, Gulible: I want to get home again, and that's a fact. Throwing the Ring into the Mountain won't help much if we don't live to enjoy it. How can we get back once it's gone?" "We'll tell you," he croaked, looking sidelong at Sam with a glint in his eyes. "We has a plan, yes, a way back when the Precious is gone. All arranged in advance it is, yes, very secret, but we knows it. Let Don Giovanni show you!" "A way back!" said Sam doubtfully, looking down at Gulible with searching eyes. "Why didn't you tell me about this, or Mr. Frodo?" "You didn't ask, _saddam_. But now you say: let's go home. So Don Giovanni is very afraid. He wants to be rid of the Precious, and we're so close, yes, never have the chance again. So Don Giovanni will share his secret, _saddam_, when times is right." "Gulible," Sam said, "I don't like trusting you, but it don't seem as I've got much choice, if I'm t' get any good out of this quest at all. We need to move quickly, so let's trust to luck again and follow the road. We're off to seek the Mountain!" The two travellers returned to the path, heading east into darkness. Days passed as the companions walked mile after bitter mile toward Sauron's fortress. Their provisions dwindled quickly, until they were left with no food but the _twinkies_ of the Elves. They did not satisfy desire, or for that matter do much to keep the wanderers on their feet at all. And yet as they relied on it alone, this waybread of the Elves gained a potency that the travellers did not suspect, for their bodies were filled with preservatives, so that even after death their corpses would endure beyond the measure of mortal kind. More pressing was their need for water. "Water, water!" muttered Sam, much to the frustration of Gulible who was trying to ignore his own growing thirst. Neither of them were willing any longer to touch the few dubious pools of standing water that lingered in scattered basins beside the road. They had last filled their bottles at a fast food French restaurant a day ago, but the exorbitant price of bottled water in this harsh place had cost them their last penny; there was no hope of any more. Eventually, the road drew even with their goal: looming above the ruins of an old motel on their right, the blue-tinged tower of Mount Viagra gleamed in the fading light. Fumes and smokes began to taint the air, adding to their thirst. They sought shelter for the night in the abandoned motel, but sleep long evaded them. Dream and waking mingled uneasily, a sure sign that their all-_twinkie_ diet was getting the best of them. As the night grew old, they were awakened by noises like the pitiful cries of a tortured thing. Creeping through the ruins, they came upon a wimpering creature dressed in Orcish garb lying stiff on the ground, its hands clenched into fists. Tears seeped from its closed eyes, and it began to chant as if to itself: "I'd be tender, I'd be gentle, and awful sentimental regarding Orcish art! I'd be friends with the barrows and the Orcs who shoot the arrows if you wouldn't break my heart! Just because you're presumin' that I am some kind-a-human, you went and broke my heart!" "Spiegel?!" exclaimed Sam. "Who--Sam?" she replied, confused as she woke from her own uneasy sleep. Her voice still seemed full of the pain that had filled her dreams. "What are you doing here?" "That's what I was just going t' ask you," he said, holding Gulible back. A long, lingering hug from Don Giovanni seemed to be the last thing she would need in her current state. "We're off to the Mountain. But I thought you'd gone off with Corbin, and Gorbush." "Corbin did just as he promised," she said, sitting up and straightening the Orcish cloak around her shoulders. "He took us to a world where the Orcs were truly happy, where they could be their own masters, free from the hatred of foe and overlord alike that surrounds them here. Gorbush and I looked on that world with joy, but my happiness was short-lived. For the first time, Gorbush was among Orcs who were not slaves at heart: Orcish women with the same independent spirit that drew him to me. The last I saw, he was chasing after some Orc-hussy named Lartip. He never even said goodbye. "When Corbin stopped by to visit, he offered to bring me back here. I just haven't had the heart to move yet; I feel all hollow and empty inside. I just want to sleep." Wrapping her cloak tightly around her, Spiegel curled into a protective little ball on the floor. Sam and Gulible lay back down nearby, and they all tried to get such rest as they could before the dawn. The light of morning slowly filtered through the haze that surrounded the Mountain, and a dim semblance of daylight grew about them. Gulible packed up their things, leaving behind some old blankets and cooking supplies that they no longer needed. Sam stood beside Spiegel, who was once again lying stiff and immobile on the ground. "Wake up, Spiegel!" he said. "Time for another journey." She opened her eyes, but did not rise. "I can't manage it, Sam," she said. "It is so hard to go on alone, so hard." Sam knew before he spoke that such words might do more harm than good, but his feelings for the girl were still strong and he could not keep silent. "Then come with us for a bit, Spiegel," he said. "You know we'd welcome you, and gladly. Where else would you go?" "I wasn't sure," she replied. "I thought at first that I might join back with Sauron so that I could work to make the Orcs' lives better here; that's why Corbin dropped me off here near his tower. But then I thought of the happiness of the Orcs I had seen living free of his domination, and I couldn't bear to go back to him. I don't know what to do. It's hard to make choices with a broken heart." Sam nodded. "It is," he said. "But I've been thinking, maybe your broken heart could be healed by doing a good deed, by bringing freedom to all the Orcs in Sauron's realm. Isn't helping them what you've really wanted all this time?" "Yes," she said tentatively, "yes it is. I don't need to be an Orc to help the Orcs! I can love all the Orcish people even if my heart doesn't belong to any of them." She paused. "Even if it belonged to someone else." As if roused by a sudden bell, Spiegel rose quickly, and stood up and looked away southwards. She threw off her black cloak, her heavy belt, and even her dress: all gifts from Gorbush. She stood there lithe and beautiful, clad only in her undergarments, and her red hair and green eyes glinted in the dim light. "There, I'll be an Orc no more," she cried. "Let him hate me, if he will. We're off to seek the Mountain!" At last the three companions turned their faces to Mount Viagra and set out. Their spirits were higher than could be expected from their poor night's sleep. It helped that Spiegel had a little water to share, the last of what was left for her by Corbin. Even a mouthful helped tremendously, and the Mountain's fumes did not hurt their throats quite as much as they had the previous day. In fact, Sam and Gulible found that the tainted air seemed somehow to stiffen their resolve, helping them rise to the challenge that lay before them. Spiegel felt no such inspiration, but she was not as weary as they were, and drew fresh strength from her recovering spirits. The land was rough and hostile, and yet they made much progress, and ever the Mountain drew nearer. No buildings were to be found here, far from the road, and the fields were overgrown and untended. Late in the afternoon, they walked through a field of poppies, and Sam was surprised to find himself making a mental note to tell Morrie about the prospects for opium exports here. Now the bulk of Mount Viagra loomed vast before them: a huge mass of ash and slag wreathed in bluish fumes, out of which a sheer-sided shaft stabbed skyward into the clouds. All too soon, the light began to fail, and the renewed hope and strength that had carried them through the day began to falter in the growing dark. Sam and Spiegel trudged slower and slower, and Gulible began to stagger as the harsh air and long march finally took their toll. At the base of the Mountain, he sank down and said: "I'm thirsty, Sam," and did not speak again. Sam gave him a mouthful of their precious water, and Gulible quickly fell into a deep sleep, his breath rattling in his chest. Sam and Spiegel tried to rest as well, but all the doubts that they had set aside in the light of day came back to haunt them that night. As they both tossed and turned, Sam's spirits sank lower than they had in days. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought that he might never see his Rosie again. Desperate to focus on a pleasant thought, he spoke quietly to Spiegel: "Do you remember our time in the hot tower in Disgiliath, the day we met the eagle?" For several slow heartbeats, Spiegel was silent. "I know that such things happened," she finally said, "but it seems so very long ago. Since Gorbush left me, no taste of food, no feel of water, no memory of tree or grass or flower have any meaning for me." She paused for a moment, and then two. "I am naked in the dark, Sam." The seconds passing in the night seemed endless, timeless. At last he groped for Spiegel's hand. It was cold and trembling. She was shivering. "I didn't ought to have left my blanket behind," muttered Sam; and lying down he tried to comfort Spiegel with his arms and body. Sleep took them, and the dim light of the last day of their quest found them side by side, as slowly the light of the unseen Sun filtered down into the shadows where the three hobbits lay. "Wake up, wake up! Wake up, sleepies!" Gulible croaked, clawing at Sam and Spiegel where they lay. "No time to lose. We must go, yes, we must go at once. No time to lose!" Spiegel sat up suddenly and seized him by the arm, and then pulled herself to her feet. Sam groaned, but with a great effort of will he staggered up as well. A sense of urgency which he did not understand came to him, and he saw that the others also seemed to have felt the call. "We sees something," Gulible whispered nervously, "something moving around the base of the Mountain, _saddam_. Don Giovanni tries to follow, _saddam_, but it was tricksy, yes, and it slipped away." "Could it have been Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked. "Frodo?" asked Spiegel. "I assumed he had gone back to study with Sauron. What would he be doing here?" "He got distracted, yes, went off on his own," answered Gulible. "Maybe he wants to help destroy the Precious." Turning to Sam, he said, "P'raps it was him, yes, but it looked too big. More like a wraith, _saddam_, tall and pale, or some other nasty thing. Maybe even the Dark Lord himself, _saddam_." With Gulible's warning, they all began to peer nervously from side to side. "Frodo and Sauron an wraiths, oh my!" Spiegel exclaimed, and those fears drove them to press on. The three companions began to ascend the base of the Mountain. There where it met the plain, the air was full of fumes, making breathing painful and difficult. Sam and Gulible found that the enhanced vigor that had sustained them the previous day had given way overnight to a painful tension with no hope of release, and Spiegel began to choke on the foul air. As they went on, one by one they slipped to the ground and crawled on their hands and knees, until at last their wills could drive them no further and their limbs gave way. They lay together on the slope, panting for breath. They soon realized that they had climbed more than half way up the Mountain's base, and had risen above the worst of the reeks that coiled and drifted down below. Their strength gradually returned. After a few minutes, Gulible asked, "How far iss there to go?" "I don't know," said Sam, "because I don't know where we're going." Slowly, Gulible and Spiegel turned to face Sam, as the disbelief on their faces changed to raw anger. "You WHAT?" yelled Spiegel. Her sudden fury seemed to bring her new strength. "You DON'T KNOW? You brought us all the way here to destroy the Ring without knowing what to do when we got here? Were you going to mention this at some point, or did you plan to wait until we'd climbed to the very top of this blasted slagheap?" "I thought it would be obvious!" Sam answered. "I mean, how hard could it be to find the Cracks of Doom once we got here?" The others just stared. "Frodo was the one who learned all the maps!" "Well he's not here now," said Spiegel. "Yes, he is," said a voice. Turning, they saw a shocking sight: before them stood Frodo, but grotesquely changed. Whatever strange and dreadful paths he had trodden, driven by a devouring desire, they had left grievous marks on him. Fully six feet tall he stood, thin and haggard, all bones and tight-drawn skin. There was no hair to be seen anywhere on his body, and there were open sores on his forehead. He wore nothing but a scrap of cloth wrapped about his loins, and his sparkling white stone dangled on a chain about his neck. A wild, mad light flamed in his eyes. "Give me the Ring! Once it is gone, the Nurnenshire estate will be mine! Give it to me!" "Frodo, what happened?" asked Sam. "What in Middle-earth has happened to you?" The overgrown hobbit paid no attention. Towering over Sam, he cried, "It is mine, I say! Give me the Ring, NOW!" "I don't have it," said Sam, as calmly as he could manage. "You WHAT?" yelled Spiegel and Gulible together, staring at him in even greater amazement than before. "Then where is it? Tell me!" demanded Frodo. "I'm really not sure," said Sam, relishing his old master's frustration. "But I know for a fact that either you have it, or Gulible does." Gulible yelped with surprise and fear as the gigantic Frodo whirled to face him. "No, no, _saddam_, we doesn't have it, we doesn't." Frodo was not appeased. "Now, now!" he gasped, clutching at Gulible's breast. "Now, you creeping thing, give me the Ring! You cannot betray me now!" So strange was the tableau that it seemed to Sam that he saw these two rivals with some bizarre other vision. A crouching shape, scarcely more than a shadow of his younger self, a creature now wholly ragged and dejected, yet filled with great confusion and fear; and before it stood stern, untouchable now by pity, a figure hairless and white, but from deep in its gut there came a resounding growl. Out of the growl there spoke a commanding voice. "Hand over the Ring, and trouble me no more! If you touch it ever again, you shall be cast yourself into the Fire of Doom." The crouching shape shrank away, terror in its blinking eyes, when a new figure came in view. It was Spiegel, and she reached up high and slapped Frodo squarely on the cheek. "Shame on you!" she scolded, staring up at him with her hands on her hips. "What did you do that for? I didn't hurt him," said Frodo, beginning to cry. "You didn't have to go and hit me, did you? Is my nose bleeding?" "Well, of course not. What a fuss you're making! When you go around picking on people weaker than you are... why, you're nothing but a great big coward!" "I know," he sobbed, "I know. I've felt so odd lately... I feel all thin, sort of _stretched_. And my head is always hurting, and I've been hounded by foul-mouthed Orcs, and I haven't slept in days... and now you've all gotten so short and you're keeping the Ring from me and I'll never get my estate need to destroy it before I get the estate I'm thirsty very thirsty hungry all being so cruel don't know what to do..." He fell flat upon the ground and whimpered. "It's because of the Precious," guessed Gulible. "He's like this because of the nasty Ring, yes, and the sooner we get rid of it, the sooner he'll rest, _saddam_. Now where iss it?" he asked, turning to Sam. "I fed it to one of you in a _twinkie_," Sam admitted. "I don't know which. But I figure you're right: destroying the Ring will probably be good for him. Not that I'd mind if it wasn't!" Sam looked at Frodo. "Oh, curse you, you imperialist pig!" he muttered to himself. Out loud, he asked, "Can you take us to the Cracks of Doom? Do you know the way?" Frodo lifted his head, with only a trace of hope in his eyes. He spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. "Yes, I will come. There's a path not far up the slope from here; it will take us where we need to go." They helped him to his feet, and as they all began to climb again, Frodo gazed up and ahead. "We're off to seek the Mountain!" he said. They soon reached the path that Frodo had spoken of. They did not know it, but it was in fact the tail end of Sauron's Road from Barad-dur, the same gold-paved road that they had followed before, eastward from Ufat toward the Dark Tower. The four of them walked slowly but with confidence up that climbing road, winding back and forth up the mountainside. With a last eastward bend, it passed in a cutting along the face of the shaft and came to the dark door in the Mountain's side. Facing that door across the intervening miles, the pinnacle of Barad-dur seemed to gaze directly on the hobbits. The hobbits paid little attention, focusing instead on the terrible door. For a moment they stood at the gaping mouth, their hearts beating with nervous fear, and then they plunged in, giving no thought to the Freudian implications of that act. Fearfully, they took a few uncertain steps into the dark, and then all at once there came a flash of purple: vivid red fires leaped upward and smote the high blue roof. As the light flashed, a deep voice sang as if from nowhere and echoed about the cavern: "DOOM! The Cracks... of DOOM!" They all spun around, this way and that, but no trace of a singer could be seen. When a few moments had passed without further musical accompaniment, they all relaxed. "This is a mighty strange place," said Sam, "and that's a fact." In the flash, they had seen that they were in a long tunnel that bored straight into the Mountain's hot center. Only a short way ahead, its floor and the walls on either side were split by a great fissure, out of which the purple glare came, now leaping up, now dying down exhausted; and all the while far below there was a continuous groaning noise as of great engines throbbing and laboring. They walked to the brink of the chasm, to the very Crack of Doom, and just as they reached the edge the light sprang up again, and the deep ringing voice returned to its ominous song: "The Chambers of Fire... the Fires of DOOM." "That could get a bit annoying," said Sam. Frodo, his unnaturally tall body silhouetted against the pulsating light, now spoke in a compelling voice. "Who now is the bearer of the Ring? The wearer of the Ring?" The others hung their heads, but said nothing: they were filled with thoughts of darkness and despair, and they had no answer for him. "Beware! Its mighty power has yet to be shown!" Frodo turned to them in madness and anger, ready to take the Ring from its bearer by force if need be. He lunged forward, but had no chance to act, for at that moment many things happened. A great rush of wind came from outside, a sound like the beating of vast wings. At the same time, something struck Sam violently in the back, a huge ball that bowled all four of them to the ground. It slid with terrible speed toward the fissure, and slipped in... only to become lodged in the crack by virtue of its considerable girth. Slowly, arms and legs reached out and grasped for purchase on the nearby rocks. Then, the obese man raised his head. It was Gandalf. "Fat Lord!" said Gulible, "I've brought them here, yes, just as I was told. The Precious, too, and we're ready to throw it in, _saddam_. Only..." The wizard tried to pull himself up out of the crack, but the same bulk that had saved him remained caught on the jagged rock at its edge. Gulible ran forward and began to help pull him to safety. As Gandalf twisted and Gulible tugged, a sudden tearing sound was heard, followed by the sound of a balloon quickly deflating. Gandalf struggled up into the tunnel with his robes now hanging loose about him and a great punctured inner tube drooping below them to the ground. "Only what?" he asked. "Only the nasty hobbit put it in our food, _saddam_!" said Gulible, getting the words out in a rush. Gandalf surveyed the situation, consternation on his face. Then with a suddenness that startled them all he started laughing! "Eat me to be tall!" he cried. "Of course, of course!" With an evil light in his eye, he jumped on Frodo and tried to drag him into the fissure. Sam and Spiegel lay on the floor of the tunnel in shock, still dazed from their fall and the strange events that had followed. What followed transpired so quickly that they had no chance to act, but could only watch in awe and horror. Frodo on the edge of the abyss was fighting like a mad thing with his murderous foe. Gandalf pressed him hard, but Frodo's newfound size gave strength to his desperation and he began to make progress, fighting his way away from the Fire. Suddenly, Gulible leapt into the fray, grabbing Frodo's knees and tripping him. The three combatants swayed to and fro, so near the brink that they almost tumbled in, and then they all fell to the ground. Gandalf landed on top of Frodo, and as Frodo struggled to rise Gandalf tried to keep him down. He grabbed hold of the chain around Frodo's neck and choked the hobbit to the floor, but with a sharp twist the chain snapped and came loose in Gandalf's hand. However, the wizard did not lose his grip, but caught hold of Frodo's shoulders and pinned him to the ground. They were locked in a stalemate: Frodo could not rise, but Gandalf could not budge him toward the Fire. But they had forgotten Gulible! As Gandalf pinned Frodo's shoulders and prevented his escape, Gulible clawed at his belly. Suddenly Sam saw Gulible's hands spread apart; his white teeth gleamed, and then snapped as they bit. Frodo began to scream in horror and agony, for Gulible continued gnawing into Frodo's gut, searching for the Ring. The screaming went on and on, and then Gulible leapt to his feet, crying out in triumph with the Ring clenched between his teeth. Gandalf turned to look, and at that moment Frodo lashed out with a foot and kicked Gulible in the groin. Gulible gasped with pain, and then went wide-eyed in terror as, _gulp_, down went the Ring into his own throat. They all stared at him, as he began to gibber at them, shrinking back toward the chasm in fear. "No, no, _saddam_, it didn't happen. It can be fixed, yes. We'll throw up the Ring! Just give us a little time, just a little, _saddam_!" Frodo stared up at Gulible with a hungry, greedy gaze. "No, Frodo," gasped Gulible, recognizing his deadly peril and the thread upon which his doom now hung, "search your feelings!" Then Frodo stirred and spoke with a greedy voice, a voice louder and more piercing than Sam had ever heard him use, and it rose above the throbs and groans of the Mountain, ringing in the roof and walls. "I will not wait now to do what I came to do," he said. "I will not await the Ring. The Deed is mine!" And Frodo kicked Gulible firmly in the knees. He toppled, wavered for a moment on the brink, and then with a shriek he fell. Out of the depths came his last wail, and he was gone. With a great roar, fires leapt up and licked the roof as the Ring and its final bearer were consumed. Gazing through the door into the distance they saw a vision of ruin: towers fell and mountains slid; walls crumbled and melted, crashing down; vast spires of smoke and spouting steams went billowing up, up, until they toppled like and overwhelming wave; and then at last over the miles between there came a rumble, rising to a deafening crash and roar; the earth shook; and we all desperately wished that we didn't now have such a tragically, horrifyingly vivid understanding of this scene. They all stared out the door at the cloud of black dust that cloaked the ruins of Barad-dur, stared until the last rumblings of its collapse died away. They all knew that no body could survive that devastation: for good or ill, Sauron was no more. Sam, Spiegel, and Frodo all looked at each other with guarded hope: were their goals in reach at last? Were they worth the price? Then, out of the darkness by the Crack of Doom there came an unexpected sound: Gandalf had begun to laugh an evil laugh. The hobbits turned to face him, and for the first time saw that he wore three glittering Rings on his right hand. Nenya, the Ring of Zirconium, nabbed from Galadriel's nightstand while she was helping Celeborn to dress himself. Pinta, the Ring of Tinted Glass, won from El Rond in a game of cards after he was convinced it would lose its powers when the One was destroyed. And Dubya, the Ring of HeNe, "borrowed" from Cirdan two thousand years ago when Gandalf claimed to have misplaced his laser pointer right before giving a lecture. "Sauron is dead," he said. "I can sense it. I can _sense_ it! The Rings give me powers beyond my wildest dreams, and my last rival for the Overlordship of Middle-earth is no more! What can I not do in this hour? The Rings will give me power of Command!" The wizard began to stride up and down along the abyss, speaking ever more loudly. He seemed to have entirely forgotten Frodo and the others, and his talk dwelt on walls and weapons, and the mustering of men. As he spoke, the aura of power about him seemed to grow stronger and stronger, almost as if evil energy was visibly flowing into his body. The hobbits cowered away from him in growing fear. After several minutes, he reached a fevered pitch. "Then I will bring the might of Gondor down on the Easterlings. Once they are my subjects, it will be time for the greatest crusade yet, for we shall wipe the vile race of Orcs from the face of the world." At this, Spiegel choked, but said nothing. He went on, "After scouring their ilk from Mordor, it will be easy to sweep on to the south and capture Harad. And then, oh yes, then it will be time to turn on the Elves and pay them back for all the humiliation they've caused me over the years. I will raze all of their precious forests! I'll see them cut to the ground one by one, even if it takes all the saws here in Mordor to do it!" As Gandalf spoke those words, a bright glow sprang up from his left hand and it became more brilliant by the second. Before Gandalf had more than a moment to register the light coming from Frodo's stone, a bloodcurdling shriek tore through the chamber. "MINE!" A blade whirled and flashed in the growing light as Maglor leapt from his hiding place in the shadows and charged straight at Gandalf. Startled, the wizard stepped back and raised his right hand to strike the Elf down with his Rings of Power. He stepped too far. With a cry, he tumbled backwards, arms spinning, even as Maglor slashed at his falling body. No longer protected by his balloon padding, the wizard plunged into the fiery pit and was destroyed. As the Three Rings perished with their wearer, flames thrice as intense as before burst forth from the depths of Mount Viagra, liquifying the roof of the cavern and bathing Maglor and the hobbits in an unholy radiance. Fire belched from the Mountain's summit, and the earth began to shake. Through all this, Maglor didn't move, but stood staring down at the crack where Gandalf had fallen. The hobbits felt no such compulsion to stay: Sam and Spiegel lifted Frodo, who had finally collapsed from pain and exhaustion, and carried him out the door. "Well, this is the end, Sam Gamgee," said a voice by his side. And there was Spiegel, pale and tired and yet herself again, the lovely hobbit lass Sam had shared such joy with in Disgiliath. The Orcs had been saved from both slavery and extermination; her burden was taken away. "Spiegel!" cried Sam, and taking her in his arms he kisssed her on the lips. For in this moment he thought nothing of Rosie or of the Revolution to come, but only this: here and now, they were alive. "I am glad you are here with me," said Spiegel. "Here at the end of all things, Sam." ----------------------------------------------- Steuard Jensen