Article: 291923 of rec.arts.books.tolkien Path: news.uchicago.edu!newsswitch.lcs.mit.edu!sunqbc.risq.qc.ca!newsfeeds.belnet.be!news.belnet.be!news.tele.dk!small.news.tele.dk!193.213.112.26!newsfeed1.ulv.nextra.no!nextra.com!news4.ulv.nextra.no.POSTED!53ab2750!not-for-mail From: Tamfiiris Gloruloke <<>> Newsgroups: alt.fan.tolkien,rec.arts.books.tolkien Subject: LOTR E-text: Book VI, Chapter 4 Organization: hot'n'spicy dwagins united Message-ID: X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Lines: 189 NNTP-Posting-Host: 130.67.232.4 X-Complaints-To: news-abuse -aaatt- nextra -daht- no NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 22 May 2002 18:59:30 MEST X-Trace: news4.ulv.nextra.no 1022086770 130.67.232.4 Date: Wed, 22 May 2002 16:59:30 GMT Xref: news.uchicago.edu alt.fan.tolkien:152977 rec.arts.books.tolkien:291923 [here it is, then! hopefully without too many grammatical mistakes - i found a bunch of them when i first read through it, but hopefully managed to pick most of them out. anyway. i couldn't stay away from one teeny resurrection, but it's barely noticeable, really. hope y'all enjoy! long live the dragons! ---Tamf ] ======= Fields of Golden and Green ======== "What are they?" Aragon asked and stared out over the milling crowds. Their joyous squeals and raucous hollers reached even the highest tower, their brightly coloured garments could not be ignored by the most colourblind of absent minds. Gondor(tm) had indeed been invaded. "Don't worry about it, dear," Arwen said and put her arm over a small portion of his shoulders. "The people of Mordor have a right to be jolly after decades of hardship and high culture, haven't they? If they want to look outrageous, so be it. Now put on that costume and let me have a look at you!" Aragon sighed and wriggled into a pair of very green tights. "I can't say I like performing for Orcs," he said. "Not to mention the Southrons, they laugh and make obscene gestures at me." Arwen gave him a motherly smile. "It's their culture, darling!" she explained. "And remember, they aren't called Orcs or Southrons anymore. Keep your manners and call them Mordorians - please?" She helped him button his shirt, a voluminous tent gleaming venomously like the skin of a serpent dying from envy, and the matching vest in avocado. Aragon gave himself a quick glance in the wall-covering mirror, then looked away with a grimace. "I don't like this," he said. "I don't like it at all." He attempted to make the puppy-eyed face that made her heart melted her like marshmellows in a campfire, but all the green seemed to take away its effect. "Yes, my snake, it /is/ necessary," Arwen said firmly. "We couldn't possibly throw away a golden opportunity like this. Ariëlle has hinted that we might get even higher positions here, if we perform well and she decides to go on a mission to save the world or something. Who knows, we might be King and Queen of Gondor(tm) yet!" She threw off her cape, and stood before him in a silver bathing suit and feathers and little else. "And until that day, we will be the Fairy King and Queen of Goldywood(tm)." She gave a wry smile. "Isn't it amazing how these concept writers can twist and pervert the most simple idea?" "There will be no twisting or perversion in /my/ Gondor(tm)!" Ariëlle exclaimed cheerfully as she barged into the room without knocking. "Unless they can come up with a new way of twisting that fits the Park's concept, of course. Hey, what do you think about these? 'Buy your own Ring of Destruction'." She held out a tray of brightly coloured rings and a wizardly doll that looked somewhat like Gandalf. "He's fully de- and reflatable," she said proudly as Arwen reached out to touch his rubbery features. "Uh - wasn't it called the Ring of _Seduction_?" Aragon asked serpently, shifting uncomfortably in his new costume. Ariëlle just gave him a stare. "What kind of place do you think this is?" she asked sternly. "And may I kindly request you not to adjust your pants in public? It's not fitting." She looked at her watch, which was large and sparkly and decorated with a miniature replica of Gondor(tm). "All right, lovedoves, it's time," she said with a grin. "Break a leg, huh?" Aragorn put on his mask, which, at three times the size of his head was in perfect proportion with his body. "Ho ho ho. I'm a fat, happy wood elf," he said grimly, and slithered out to face the people, Arwen balancing behind him on heels high enough to suit any Fairy Queen. Snip, snap, snout, went the cameras of the Mordorians, and their money tickled merrily into the food stalls and souvenir shops of Gondor(tm). *** Ariëlle returned to her office. It was brightly lit by force of the great windows covering the entire wall overlooking the theme park. It was also eerily quiet, due to the sound-proofing properties of the same windows. Ariëlle, undisputed heiress to the magical kingdom of Gonor(tm), sat leisurely down at her desk and started looking through all the plans for new merchandise and better rides. She loved plans, they always seemed to come out in her favour. "That's a good one," she muttered softly as she examined the suggestion of elongating Boromir's Ghostride with reappearing hobbit toons as well. "Yes, hobbits are good for many things," she mused, and pushed her Silmarilan buzzer button. Morrie and Pipsqueak came in at once, Pipsqueak's face brimming with adolescent love, Morrie still with a calculating look in his eyes. "Any news of the Halflings?" she asked. Pipsqueak jumped up and down and squeaked excitedly. Morrie gave him a cold stare. "They're safe, Madame," he informed. "Frodo is filled to the brim with drugs and ravin' delirious. Sam and Spiegel are... uh... in their room." He grimaced. "Kalessin has said his union will contact us about compensation for the trip. Apparently, Frodo made dying noises the entire time, and the other two... well." "Thank you, my loyal Three-quarts," Ariëlle said pleasantly. "I shall take care of everything. You have served me well." She followed them out with her gaze, and smiled as she saw Pipsqueak lean on Morrie in a swooning fashion. "So susceptible," she thought, absent-mindedly fondling her Silmaril. *** In Mordor, the colours of Death and Passion were in power. Volcanic fire leapt from ramshackle house to abandoned car-wreck, black smoke packing itself thicker than ever in the sky. All living things had fled the land for the pleasures of Gondor(tm) and other attractions. The ones that were left were the half-living, the scavenging creatures; sneering rats, great, buzzing flies and cockroaches, and spiders. "Veer iz hee, my darlinks?" The woman veiled in black paused and, striking a decorative pose against the burning sky, followed her scuttling companions with her gaze. They were headed towards a mound of shrapnel greater than the others, a dazzling creation of broken steel reinforcement and glass splinters, a sculpture protesting the destruction of war made by no man's hand. "Aiii!" wailed Shelob, and ran elegantly towards the wreckage. One little spider can do nothing, perhaps. But hundreds, or thousands, nourished on flies grown fat on junk food and fighting, can accomplish plenty. Shelob's black warriors spun and fastened, pulled and moved, until the mound was opened. Many perished as unstable bits gave way and tumbled, but they were all ready to fulfill the last request of their Liberal Lady. "Sztop!" she called out suddenly. "You leaf me nov, all ov you. You hev been vonderful." She waited for the spiders to disappear, then gingerly made her way up the pile. All was still. "Szveethart? Veer ar you?" Shelob murmured softly. She listened. Was that a moan she heard? A moan known to her and loved by her, from happier times than these? She walked around the last unbroken wall of Sauron's tower until she found what she was looking for. It was a door, amazingly whole and still sealed shut. The Spider Queen reached out her hand to touch it, and soundlessly, the door swung open. Shelob gave a tentative smile and entered. "Aglunph," Sauron responded eloquently as his saviour carefully dragged him out of the room and away from the disintegrating heap. She laid the former Dark Lord out on the ground and kissed his forehead with her sticky lips. Slowly he opened his lidless eyes and looked at Shelob, then let them linger at the remnants of his tower. "I've always wanted eventful dreams," he said. "But don't you think this is a little bit over the top?" "Shussh, darlink," Shelob hissed lovingly, and stroked his hair. "Your tover waz razer vell built, vas it not? But zis iz zee ent ov it, I vear." Sauron winced and sighed. "I guess that is so," he said. "My plan has failed, and I have failed with it. You should have let me rest in my tower, my dear." Shelob tutted and gently shook his head. Sauron groaned with pain. "But don't you szee?" she asked smilingly. "Nov, at last, you are vree." She stared at him and saw his features soften, as gradually many great loads left his weary shoulders. "I don't feel the incessant need to wogah!" he exclaimed. "And... the Orcs! I don't need to control them, not one little bit. I feel great!" He tried to sit up, but fell back with a thump. Yet he was still not beaten. "I feel like singing!" he said, and drew in his breath deeply. Shelob gently hit his head with a rock, then lifted up her unconscious love and went to search for shelter in the wasteland. *** "What did she say to you?" asked Sam after the interview with Ariëlle was over. Spiegel only smiled dreamily and went over to the mirror. "Do you think my hair looks best free or tied up?" she said as she started brushing. "Your hair looks great no matter how," Sam stated matter-of-factly, and added, for emphasis, "And that's a fact." He sat meaningfully down on the bed, but Spiegel appeared not to notice. "So what are you doing tonight, then?" she asked. "Mm...me?" Sam was flabbergasted. "I thought I was going with you to see the Parade(tm)... together with you," he explained. Spiegel finished brushing and opened a box of makeup which she started applying with great skill. "I'm sorry, Sam," she said. "I'm going to be /in/ the parade. Ariëlle has offered me work here as a Beauty Queen. Imagine that - me, a Miss Gondor(tm)! Who would have thought?" She decorated her eyes in silence for a while, then turned around to look at Sam. She was just in time to see the door closing softly behind him. "How are ye, Master Frodo?" Sam asked, unexpectedly feeling a deep longing for his old, simple life in the Shire. Frodo started, opened his eyes, and giggled. "I had such a wonderful dream!" he said. "I was hatching giant butterflies from my stomach. Oh, it's you, Sam," he added as he slowly came somewhat to his senses. "Yes," said Sam. "I'm glad that you are here with me," he muttered inaudibly. "Here at the end of all things, Master." "I say, Sam," Frodo exclaimed jofully. "You do look a bit like a caterpiallar! But whenever did you decide to colour your hair purple? You look most droll!" He smiled contently and sunk down on his pillow. -- Tamf Roses are red and violets are blue All words are sacred and all prophets true.