Article: 294516 of rec.arts.books.tolkien Path: news.uchicago.edu!newsfeed.cs.wisc.edu!enews.sgi.com!newspeer2.tds.net!172.16.10.2.MISMATCH!kent.svc.tds.net!53ab2750!not-for-mail From: David Salo <<>> Newsgroups: alt.fan.tolkien,rec.arts.books.tolkien Subject: E-text Book VI, Chapter 6: Parts 1 and 2 of 6 Message-ID: <300620021258590545%dsalo@usa.net> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-transfer-encoding: 8bit User-Agent: YA-NewsWatcher/3.1.8 Lines: 197 Date: Sun, 30 Jun 2002 17:55:47 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.170.95.117 X-Complaints-To: abuse -aaatt- tds.net (TDS -daht- NET Help Desk 1-888-815-5992) X-Trace: kent.svc.tds.net 1025459747 208.170.95.117 (Sun, 30 Jun 2002 12:55:47 CDT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 30 Jun 2002 12:55:47 CDT Organization: TDS.NET Internet Services www.tds.net Xref: news.uchicago.edu alt.fan.tolkien:158811 rec.arts.books.tolkien:294516 _Make Way for Roglings_ (An epickal tragoedy in Syx Partes) *Parte ye Fyrste* 'I was only ten feet away when the shot rang out. Whizz. Thwock. The crowd began to scream, but I'd been on the business end of a dart too often to be afraid. I didn't even bother looking into the wings; I figured whoever fired the shot was too smart to hang around. So I strolled over to Frodo, lying pinned to the stage by the arrow. He looked unconscious, and I gave him a tap to help him stay that way. I wasn't worried about that skeletal freak; I'd seen him survive too many wounds to think he was in danger. So I turned him over on his side, broke off the point protruding from his chest, and pulled the rest of the arrow out ofhis back. 'This was a humdinger and no mistake. I'd just been admiring the fine job pulled on Ariellë: there aren't too many folks who know how to manufacture a Bywater Grin, and we'll keep it that way, just saying that it involves a thumbtack, half a glass of Old Winyards, choklit, a grain of Vala Dust, and the Secret Ingredient. 'But this was different. I only had to glance at the arrow to know where it came from: long and straight in the shaft, tapering green feathers. Leaving the ceremonial to Paragraph, the Priest, and Aragon, I hoisted Frodo over a shoulder, slipped off the stage, and went to look for Lego-lass. '"I wasn't there!" she insisted. Her square face was shinier than ever. "Giggly can testify that I was..." '"Yeah, yeah," I interrupted. I'd dumped Frodo at the Houses of Healing, with strict orders to keep him sedated. "Any gumshoe can tell you were framed. The question is, by who? Who's had access to your quiver?" '"Nobody!" she answered. "I keep it with me at all times. I only take it off when I go to bed." '"Anybody with you then?" I asked, rhetorically. '"Nein!" Giggly said. "I was nowhere around. You ask Lego-lass!" '"Yeah," I said, "but the arrow..." '"What is this? You want to blame everything on the Dwerrows? The Dwerrows are responsible for wars, the stock market, assassinations, nu? You think we have no feelings? Hath not a Dwarf eyes? Hath not a Dwarf mustaches? Hath not a Dwarf ear wax, nostril hair, foot fungus?" '"Waitaminnit. I didn't say you did it. I know you couldn't fire an arrow without hitting your own foot. I just want to know if you took Lego-lass's arrow." 'Giggly growled and was silent. '"Things could get rather difficult for 'Lass..." I reminded him. '"All right! I did borrow an arrow. Boromir(TM) said he wanted to look at one, see how it was made." 'Boromir(TM). How could I have forgotten about him? The web grew deeper. 'I found him in the Tower, watching the late-night newscasts of PalanTirith. I laid it on the line for him without fear; I'd come armed with a big bottle of _limpë_. '"Thou hast the wrong man, friend!" he exclaimed. "Ariellë was my sister. Wherefore should I harm her?" '"Leave Ariellë out of it, chump. It was Frodo who got the hit. And you and Frodo have a history, nespasu?" '"True enough it is that I hate the bastard and would gladly see him dead," Boromir(TM) said with a goofy smile. "But I did not shoot him. Why should I? As I know from experience , it is not easy to kill such a one. And living, he would endure a hell of self-loathing that is far worse than death. How could I possibly better that?" '"That's nothing to me. All I care about is the arrow." '"I know nothing of arrows. Why don't you ask Lego-lass?" '"You're lying," I said. "Lie again, and you get this bottle of limpë in the face. Then you can see if Aragon will make you a new one!" 'Boromir(TM) looked at the open bottle poised in his right hand, and gulped. You could see the lump travel from his throat all the way down to his right foot. I hate toons. '"All right, I confess!" he said. "I asked Giggly to get me an arrow from Lego-lass. But I didn't mean to kill Frodo! I swear!" '"So what *did* you mean?" '"She said she'd let me rub oil on her thighs if I got one from her! I didn't know that she would do anything with it! I thought it was just for her weapons collection! I promise!" 'There are times when a shamus has to decide how far he wants to get into a case. Sometimes, when you follow the leads, you end up someplace you don't wanna be. It doesn't matter how long it's taken or how much work you've done; sometimes you just drop the matter if you know what's good for you. As they say where I come from, you can't fight Brandy Hall.' So it was that on the day of Midsummer, Aragon the King El Lesser married Arwen, Warrior Princess, in the City of Commerce, and the long tale of their difficult and tortuous relationship was come to fulfilment. There are eight thousand stories in the Magic Kingdom. This has been one of them. *Parte ye Seconde* When the days of rejoicing were over at last the Companions considered, but soon dismissed the thought of returning to their own homes. 'The Shire?' Morrie asked rhetorically as he lay back on his lawn chair sipping a piña colada and having his feet massaged by two buxom Mûmakteers. 'Whereıs that? Oh, yes, I remember. Depressed area. People live in holes.' Frodo had recovered from his wound, and with plenty of bedrest, new clothes, and five meals a day was better than ever. But he seemed to have no memory of the events of Coronation Day at all. So Frodo went to Aragon as he was sitting with Arwen by the fountain, and she sang a song of Valhalla, while the Tree grew and blossomed. They welcomed Frodo and rose to greet him; and Aragon said: 'I know what you have come to say, Frodo: you wish to take up your ownership of Moneybags Hall in Nurnenshire. Well, dearest friend, the tree grows best in the land of its sires....' (Frodo frowned at this) 'but nonetheless you must do as you please. Behold! Here are the parchments giving you the title to Nurnenshire; and here are the keys of the manor. Just sign here... and here.... and there. Congratulations, Frodo! You are now the proud owner of Nurnenshire, with a 51% share in Mordor Enterprises, and the courtesy title of "Duke of Nurn."' 'Fifty... one... percent!ı Frodo gasped. ŒBut thatıs a controlling share!' 'Do you wonder at that, Ring-eater?' said Arwen. 'For you know that three-quarters of the land area of Mordor is in Nurnenshire, and 99% of the arable land. But do not forget that the headquarters of Mordor Enterprises is ruined, its Board of Directors have been slain, and the vast majority of its records are lost with the fall of the Dark Tower.' 'Whoo-hoo!' cried Frodo, heedless of Arwenıs cautions. 'I'm in charge of Mordor! Heh-heh... now those Orcsıll find out how a corporation *ought* to be run! Hm..., letıs see....' Frodo stalked up and down the courtyard, shouting to himself as he milked the Kow. 'First, Iıll rebuild the Dark Tower. No, two of them! They must rise even higher then before, or the narcoterrorists have won! Then, Iıll stamp out the last remnants of Socialism. In five years weıll be outperforming Gondor! Hah-hah! Nothing, nothing can stop me now! 'Cos I--Iım the Duke of Nu-urn!' 'Dook, Dook, Dook Dook of Nurn, Dook, Dook Dook of Nurn, Dook, Dook, Dook of Nurn, Dook, Dook, Dook...' came the echoing chorus from the sides of Mount Minnie. Aragon coughed. 'Since you are so (potentially) wealthy,ı he said, 'then you surely won't mind redeeming *this*.' And with that he produced a much-folded, dog-eared document. 'Your IOU,' he went on, 'for I believe fifty thousand gold pieces...' 'Fifty grand!' Frodo exclaimed. 'You kept *that*? You bloodsucker! You canıt be serious!' 'But I am,' Aragon said, nodding. 'You see, with the downturn in revenue and unredeemed war expenses, Crown finances are somewhat embarrassed. I must collect my debts where they are owed me, or go penniless.' '*I*ım not going to be supporting him,' Arwen finished. 'Well, I donıt have 50 Gs on me. Maybe when I get to Moneybags Hall...' 'Oh, donıt worry about that,' Aragon said. 'Just sign this cheque, and it'll be deducted from the assets of your Estate.' Frodo snarled, but took the proffered quill and signed. 'Thatıs the last I see of you, you rascal. I knew as soon as I set eyes upon you that you were a rogue! Well, be seeinı ya, toots -- Iım off to Nurnenshire!' Aragon took the cheque, verified the signature, and tucked it away inside the ample folds of his tunic. He smiled broadly and nodded at Arwen. 'One moment, Ring-eater,' she said softly but menacingly. Frodo stopped and turned back, warned by her voice. 'What is it?' he growled, hand straying to the hilt of his sword. 'I understand that after all the trauma you have suffered your memory may be weak. Therefore I wish to bring to your recollection this document, which you signed before you left Rivendell.' She produced an ornate parchment, covered in tiny elvish script and adorned with many wax seals attached to ribbons. 'Yeah, okay,' said Frodo. 'I remember that. Thatıs my deferment. But it was good for 10 years, and I destroyed the Ring in much less than that amount of time!' 'That is true indeed,' said Arwen. 'Howbeit, I draw your attention to the last paragraph. No, the one *under* the seals.' Frodo looked. Besides being half-hidden by the enormous seals, the elvish script was composed of letters about a millimeter and a half high, on average. He held the parchment close to his eyes, squinted the right, and read out loud: 'I, Frodo Baggins of Bag End, being of doubtful sanity and unable to care for myself, do remit to El Rond, Lord of Rivendell, the sole custody and guardianship of any and all Estates that I may lawfully inherit or otherwise come to possess within the boundaries of the Land of Mordor. I grant to El Rond, Lord of Rivendell, sole power to act upon my behalf, to buy, sell, grant, deed, enjoy, transmit, bestow, bequeath, or otherwise dispose of said Estates in precisely such manner as if I were a legally declared minor or lunatic. Signed, FRODO BAGGINS.' The last words were uttered in a semi-incoherent rush as Frodo foamed extravagantly at the mouth and then collapsed senseless on the cobblestones of the Court of the Fountain. _What a loser_, came a mocking voice inside his head as he lost consciousness. _I always knew you wouldnıt amount to anything_. The next day, Frodo, Sam, Morrie and Pipsqueak were informed that they were several months in arrears on their rents and would forthwith be expelled from the City.