PELICAN STOP MARKET.

Co-written by Just Bob and j_mercuryuk
Disclaimer: I do not own ‘lord of the Rings’ or any of its characters, nor will I for the entirety of the series. However, if this changes, I’ll let you know by hiring a private detective to seek you out individually. In the meantime, let’s take it as read.

Chapter 1: The Good, The Bad, The Gorgeous, The Sexy, The Ugly, The Cute, The Elderly, The Gay and the other one.

For the first time since Middle Earth was last in peril (last Tuesday), the council room in Rivendell was full. Elves, dwarves, humans, hobbits, wizards, the Valar and a variety of other curious creatures (just to annoy the catering staff) had been invited by Lord Elrond. Of course all these ‘people’ had nothing better to do, so they came. Thranduil, (the king of Mirkwood) misguidedly believed that taking care of his kingdom was more important than running off to some party at Elrond’s. He instead sent his son, Legolas, who always seemed so good at these things.
Meriadoc Brandybuck had not intended to come. He was going to go fishing with Peregrin Took (because he’s always with Pippin), but got lost and ended up in Rivendell anyway.
Tom Bombadillo turned up, but he wasn’t invited so they threw him out. However his prancing and singing was so entertaining that the bouncers decided to keep him as a pet.
Aragon son of Arathorn arrived by the unusual method of bursting out of a birthday cake. He looked around in surprise and said “hang on a minute, this isn’t our bedroom!”
Elrond stood up “What are you doing Elessar?”
Aragon looked at him blankly. “Who? Oh, yes that is me. You see, well, I ….” Suddenly he leaped up, grabbed someone’s cloak (Yoink) and ran off. Bizarrely, nobody found this odd, although Arwen was very pleased. Boromir was also there, but rather, well……damp.

Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion stood in one corner of the room, looking mysterious and drinking a mysterious and magical elf drink which bore a remarkable resemblance to champagne. He smiled his mysterious elf smile and keenly observed the goings-on.
As usual, Gandalf’s fireworks were on display, but they seemed rather shabby on this occasion. Maybe it was because he saw them every bloody time. He noticed Gandalf and Elrond talking and decided to listen in as he wondered how Gandalf could be inside while his fireworks went off outside.
“I noticed that these aren’t up to your usual standards, Mr Anderson!”
“I did warn you,” he replied assuming that Elrond had a reason for using such a strange name. “This is what you get when you try to book on such short notice. I can’t just magic things up you know.”
“Well, Mithrandir, actually-“
The White Wizard interrupted him. “I had to import cheap Uruk-Hai made products from Isengard.”
They were distracted by an Eagle Lord loudly complaining about the lack of live meat provided for the banquet. Once the fuss had died down and the Eagle Lord had flapped drunkenly outside to perch on a tree (as most people know, Eagles can’t handle their liquor)
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion’s attention turned to an approaching elf. At least, he looked like an elf, but his posture was slumped in a depressed and distinctly unselfish way.
“I have no particular reason to speak with you, but the plot will advance if I do, so I shall.”
//Speak then brother// Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion said in the Sindarin tongue.
He gave Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion the blankest of looks “Ya wot?”
“Do you not understand the speech of your own kin?” He exclaimed in surprise.
“Elvish, you mean? I am only a half-elf. I was brought up in a human village so I know nought about the elder and their ways.”
“Ah yes, my keen eyes see your inherent inferiority.”
“You mock me. Why do all you elves mock me? Those elves over there are laughing at me.” And indeed, when Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion looked behind the stranger, he saw a group of Mirkwood elves who kept glancing at him and sniggering. “All I did was tell them my name.”
“Then what is your name, peredhil?”
“No, not Pereyhil. It is Gaurbrith.” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion fought the urge to grin, but failed.
“What’s so funny?”
The elf lord quickly changed the subject. “Since you have given me your name, I shall also introduce myself. I am Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion, ruler of the high plains of Pal Palen.”
A hint of panic entered Gaurbrith’s voice. “Well, er, greetings Lord Kanolicky-” The elf lord draw his sword.
“It’s Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion.” He said menacingly. “TRY AGAIN, and do not fail this time.”
Gaurbrith was noticeable shaking. “I-I may struggle y-y-your lordship. You have a v-v-very complex name.” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion’s sword rose and Gaurbrith gulped.
“Wisemen become skilled when they feel the touch the cold eleven steel at their throats.”
Pulling together his courage and speaking very slowly, he managed to put the right syllables together (even in the right order). This seemed to satisfy the nobleman and he sheathed his intricately carved blade.
“So, why do you have such a long name?”
“Godfather was an Ent. My mother and father came to him as soon as they knew that she was with-child, but he still did not return with a name until I was 10 years of age. You have no idea what it is like to think you will forever be called ‘thingy’!” Feeling the need to strike out, he said “You don’t have anything to brag about with your name.”
“What’s wrong with my name?”
But Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion did not even acknowledge his question and instead stared enigmatically into the middle-distance.
Just when Gaurbrith thought he would have to find another conversation partner, Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion said “How did you come to be invited to this feast?”
“I know not. I was just out collecting fire-wood when this wizard named Gandalf rode up to me. Next thing I know, I was hopping behind him with a rope tied to my foot. He said it was for my own good; I needed to get out of this village and have an adventure.”
“He does that a lot.” Said Bilbo, who just happened to be passing by at that moment.

All around the room, people were sitting down at the tables. Gimli was insistent on sitting between Galadriel and Legolas. Celeborn’s smile was getting rather strained, and he made a show of holding her hand and giving the occasional ‘little’ kisses. Of course, being an elf lord, he was far too subtle to glare threatening at Gimli. Of course Gimli, being a dwarf, didn’t take the hint.
Frodo was there with Frodo Junior, who will remain unexplained and unmentioned for the rest of this fanfic.
Sam was there with his wife, Rosie, and a whole herd of children, for whom no explanation is required.
The Ents, as usual, decided to eat standing up. The Valar did not go to a table: the table came to them.
When they were all seated, Elrond stood up to say grace.
“We thank ye Valar and your servants the maiar, who keep and protect us, and especially Yavanna for nourishing our crops.”
“Yer welcome, pet.” Called Yavanna from the Valar table, which was already filled with food. Elrond sighed. “Let the feast begin!”
“So what exactly are we celebrating then?” Gaurbrith asked Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion (who coincidentally happened to be sitting next to him. Strange, that...) as food was laid on the table. The food didn’t last long on Merry and Pippin’s table and there were splats and shouts along the lines of “BEHAVE” and “Mind yeh manners.” From Sam’s table
“I’m not entirely sure.” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion said, reaching for some fruits. “I think it could be a wedding, or possibly a birth.”
“I thought it was a feast day.” Said a ranger on Gaurbrith’s other side.
“Isn’t it Elrond’s birthday” Asked a Mirkwood elf from down the table.
Radegast the Brown’s voice came from across the hall. “A birthday? Does that mean I should have brought a present?”
This started a wide-spread and noisy debate across the hall. Violence was only averted because Manwe was getting a head ache, so he silenced them all. The Funereal atmosphere lasted until dessert, when the Valar allowed some music and many got up to dance.
Arwen and Aragon went to their room to continue the “conversation” about the cake.
Legolas went alone to the garden.
Boromir was by the lake, searching in his boat for his Van Brace.
Gimli was behind a pillar spying on Galadriel, while she pretended she didn’t know he was there.
Merry had fallen asleep in the hallway after drinking too many pints.
Pippin was looking for him.
Frodo was brooding over the loss of the ring in the library.
Sam was trying to put some of his children to sleep, while the others cling to his legs.
Gandalf had disappeared to somewhere mysterious...or possibly the toilet.
All in all, none could possibly know where the others were when....
A servant burst through the doors and shouted
“Find Elrond! Someone has just been found unconscious in either the bedrooms, gardens (including the lake), behind a pillar, in the hallway, the library or somewhere else!”
“Why are you saying that out here? It’s just us bouncers out here.”
“Hey, low, Tom Bombadillo...”
Within moments, Elrond was found, and he came into the banquet hall to calm the crowd with his findings.
“Stop the banquet! Somebody’s been poisoned!”
A servant behind him said “It’s worse then that; he’s dead Jim!”
End of Chapter 1.

*laughs* :D Not a bad spoof! Rather like mine, which incorporates what most people (who are out of their minds) call stupidity :oddlook: I can't wait for the next chapter! ^_^

:hug: Thank you for your reply :D

Disclaimer- I don’t own the rights to any of the ‘Lord of the rings’ characters, but Legolas has my heart in the palm of his hand.

Chapter 2- The Reason for the Title.

“Actually, no. In fact they’re conscious but, alas, definitely poisoned.....and there’s no-one here named Jim.”
The servant looked sheepish. “Sorry, I just got carried away with the excitement of it all.”
Bard, Lord of the Lake-town, stood up.
“We need a ridiculously long meeting. All of the lords of Middle Earth must be there, plus all of the greatest warriors, and all of the members of the fellowship.”
Haldir also stood up. “And during this meeting the history of several of the characters must be explained”
Elrond nodded. “Very well. I hear by call a Council.”
“You like your councils don’t you Elrond” said Eomer, who was standing by the door.
“Indeed,” Replied Elrond “When I call the council, it means I get to be in charge.” he raised his voice “The council will consist of the Valar, all the lords and great warriors gathered here, the Fellowship....and Gaurbrith.”
Gaurbrith was startled. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Said Gandalf, standing behind him holding a rope.
“No, no. I’ll come quietly.” Said Gaurbrith, clutching his ankle.
As everyone filed out Gimli came up to Elrond.
“Elrond, you are a great healer, aren’t you?”
“Look, it’s a very unusual poison, with special magical properties.” He snapped defensively.
“What? No, you don’t understand. I was wondering how much you knew about.......cloning.” He looked straight ahead, but he was fingering his crystal-confined lock of Galadriel’s hair.

When they reached the council chamber, they found it was not quite ready for them. There were paper plates lying around everywhere, and half empty glasses. A couple of party-goers were passed out on the floor. The bouncers were busy trying to teach Tom Bombadil to ‘play dead’. Elrond looked pissed, as only Elrond (and possibly Agent Smith) can.
“Why is this room not prepared?”
“Haven’t we been holding the feast in here?” Asked a human clan chief who, for the sake of originality, was dressed in a costume indistinguishable from a Viking.
“No, we were in the banquet hall,” said an indignant dwarf.
“Well nobody told me!”
“Hang on, when did we change?” piped up a confused Gaurbrith. “We were in here, and suddenly we moved.”
“Oh it’s just a plot inconsistency. You get used to them after awhile.” said Frodo.
“It will take too long for the servants to clear up this mess, My Lord. Perhaps we should use the river-barge,” announced Erestor.
This produced a generally positive reaction, especially from Cirdan and the Lake-town party. So, the procession rushed to the barge in the hopes of getting to the steering seat first. On the way, Gimli came up to Gandalf.
“A great wizard like you must know some good cloning spells,” he said casually.
“I know many spells, young dwarf, none of which are to be used lightly.”
“Haven’t you said that before, Gandalf?” asked Bilbo.
Gandalf looked irritated. “No! Come along Gaurbrith!”
Aragorn walked beside Elrond, his face carrying a perplexed expression.
“Ada, I must confess to being surprised to find you here as I thought you had travelled to the Grey Havens and then passed into the West.”
“There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that” said Elrond, trying desperately to think of one.
“And what would that be, Ada?”
“I, er...left a light on in Rivendell, yes, a light on in the bathroom, I think. You know how these bills mount up.”
Aragorn nodded sagely. “I know what you mean.”

Legolas, fleet of foot, reached the barge first and headed straight for the bridge. He was intercepted, however by Merry, who had swum across to the barge (with Pippin just behind him).
“Surely you young ones do not wish for the great responsibility of this craft.”
“Yeah we do,” said Merry cheerfully, splating into the seat.
“Surely I am stronger and wiser and better qualified then you to steer this boat.”
“Nah, we’re fine.”
“Yeah. Sod off, bishie!” added Pippin lifting himself over the side. Legolas grabbed Merry by the back of his collar and raised him two feet off the deck.
“Oi! You can’t do that!” protested Pippin. Merry bowled into Pippin, which caused them both to tumble over the barrier and into the water. Legolas took hold of the wheel, seated himself and sighed.
The seat was damp.

“I, Lord Elrond, Half-Elven of Rivendell, hereby call this meeting to order.” Everyone who was going to be there was there, and everyone who was there ignored him.
“I said ORDER!!” shouted Elrond, thumping the table with a magical dwarf hammer which sang “Twinkle, Twinkle little star” as it was used. The noise level decreased fractionally, but this may have been because someone had finally managed to knock Boromir out. Manwe tapped Elrond on the shoulder and said “Mayhap, thou wouldst permit me . . .?”
Elrond bowed deeply. “You’re the Valar.”
Manwe lifted his hand and lightning came down out of the clear blue sky and lit the end of Orome’s enormous cigar.
“Why thank you, old chap. I was just about to ask if anyone had a light.”
“Fruit, anyone?” asked Yanna, Giver of Fruit, offering a bowl round.
“They’re all mine. I’ll fight anyone who wants one,” challenged Tulkas, snatching the bowl.
“You can’t eat them. Fruits have feelings too,” wept Nienna.
Elrond cleared his throat impatiently.
“As I was say...” He paused “You lot by the steering wheel: SIT DOWN!”
Brand was in the driver’s seat. “But you have never steered a boat in your life!”
“That maybe true” replied Cirdan. “However, I have millennia of experience with the construction of ships.”
“Well I’m in the seat now, so push off”
“I told you to SIT DOWN!”
Cirdan took a seat and sulked.
“As I was saying, the illness is indeed grievous. The victim will die...soon. It will be long, drawn out and painful.”
Someone put their hand up. “How soon?”
“Somewhere between tomorrow and in the five years time.”
“That’s accurate enough for me.”
“The poison is beyond even my incredible skill to heal, which is remarkable, as everyone knows I am the foremost healer in Middle Earth. There are but two cures. The first is for the wonderful and most high Valar to heal them by a miracle.”
Everyone turned towards the Valar.
“Heads up everyone, they’re looking at us,” said Mandos.
Manwe took the initiative as spokesperson.
“We could do that,” he said reasonably “but then again, we could not.”
“Why are we still here, anyway?” asked Ulmo.
“We were supposed to leave before the poisoning.”
“The party’s gone all boring now, let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, parties are so much better in Valinor.”
“Everything is so much better in Valinor.”
And with that, the most powerful beings in Middle Earth left.
Ulmo dived head-first into the punch bowl. For several hours afterwards, the sounds of giggles and hick-ups could be heard from it.
Varda tapped her chest and said “Beam me up Scotty,” and disappeared in a shimmering and strange noise.
Tulkas sprinted off across the lake, Nessa hitching a ‘piggy-back’ ride.
Este gracefully floated away on a passing breeze.
Mandos faded way on a passing glance.
Lorien jumped into a conveniently sleeping hobbit, who was rather startled (but not so startled that he woke up).
Vana skipped away, happily humming a strangely familiar tune. If someone had asked her the name, she would have said ‘Into the West’.
For the sake of originality, Orome disappeared in a puff of smoke. This may or may not have come from his cigar.
Aule created a pit right through the centre of the boat, and jumped in. The pit remains.
Nobody saw Manwe leave. When they turned back to look at him, he was no longer there.
Yavanna walked into a wardrobe, which nobody remembered bringing onto the boat. Most thought that was it, but she came out again and said “No, Gimli. We won’t make a replica of Galadriel for you!” Before she slammed the door they could hear the roar of a lion and a cackle of a witch.
Nienna was left alone. “Why has everyone left me?” she cried, and she fell to pieces, literally.

After some time (and another change of pilots), Elrond managed to bring the meeting to order again. “The other cure of which I spoke is a herb found only in the distant land of Kyryalya, which has been strangely omitted from all standard maps of Middle Earth. A party must go to Kyryalya and bring the herb back to me.”
“I assume this quest will involve lots and lots of danger,” Frodo said.
“Of course. That’s why I’m not going. Neither is Arwen.”
“Aw, Ada. You are, like, soooo mean,” said Arwen, before storming off to sulk in her room.
“Rrraaawk!” said the Eagle lord.
“That is a very good point,” said Gandalf, “and one that needs to be remembered in these discussions.”
“The road is long and treacherous,” continued Elrond. “On the way to Kyryalya you must pass through, Lothlorien, Mirkwood, the Misty Mountains, Gondor, Rohan, the Lonely Mountain, and possibly Mordor.
“But won’t it be quicker-“ commented Boromir, picking seaweed from between his teeth.
“NO! This route is definitely the most direct.”
Glorfindel stood up. “By the by, Milord, could you tell us who was poisoned?”
“We don’t have time for that! However, we do have time to argue for several hours about historical side-issues.”
“Rrrrrrawkkk” put in the Eagle lord, moving the plot along.
“As you wish, O Wind Lord. We shall decide the adventuring party immediately.” said Gandalf.
Eomer stood up and said “I suggest we send The Fellowship.”
Legolas leaped up, with his fist over his heart, and struck a manly pose. “It would be my honour to join such a noble quest.”
“I go where the elf goes,” added Gimli. “He’s my bestest friend in the whole wide world.”
“I’m going as well, to prove I’m a better friend than Gimli,” put in Aragorn.
Merry and Pippin jumped up. “We’ll go ‘cause we have nothing better to do.”
“Sure, whatever,” said Boromir. “It can’t turn out any worse than the last one.”
“It’s decided then,” concluded Gandalf. “Any objections?”
“I have an objection,” said Dain, King Under the Mountain.
“Is it selfish and obstructive?” asked Gandalf
Dain looked embarrassed. “Yes.”
“We’ll ignore it then. The party will consist of the nine members of the Fellowship, plus Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion and Gaurbrith.”
Gaurbrith almost fell off his chair. “Hold on, why me?”
Celeborn looked startled. “Did you not heed the wise words of the Eagle lord?”
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion rose to his feet. “I must question the wisdom of my participation. I am the ruler of a realm, and it needs my attention.”
“Just leave it all in the hands of some lackey.” said Aragorn “That’s what I always do, and it usually turns out fine.”

----Meanwhile, in Minas Tirith----
Steward Faramir was seated in the crowed throne room, looking extremely stressed.
“My lord, the southern cities have just declared independence-“
“Lord Faramir, a shipment of explosives has gone missing near the city prison-“
“Now if ya don’t want me to be back here in six months to shore up that cliff face up there again, ya gonna have to pay for quality-“
Faramir took deep breaths and muttered “I can do this. I MUST do this. King Elessar trusted me. I must, show my quality.”
*BOOM*
*CRASH*
“HELP! EOWYNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” *sob*

Back in Rivendell, several hours of boring debate had passed, and still the identity of the poisonee had not been revealed. Elrond stood up, having donned a pair of shades and an ear piece, with a curly wire that disappeared into the collar of his robes.
“So, all is decided. The party shall leave in the morrow. I wish them all the speed and protection that the Valar can provide. Council adjourned.”
The few who remained in their seats stood, filed down the gang plank and towards their sleeping chambers.

After everyone had departed and all was still, Manwe appeared from his hiding place beneath a table. He dusted himself off, and strolled into the West.

End of Capter 2

hey - thats an awesome spoof - made me giggle!!! ^_^ is there any more to come ?? chapter 3 !!1

*tries and does not succeed to not fall off the chair* Aw great stuff, Mercury! Keep it up. You're fantastic at these spoofs!

Thank you very much Hobbity_Goose and Athéniel Egleriannen for your lovely responses. Don't worry there is still many more to come (me and just bob are still writing them).


Disclaimer- I own the rights to all the characters in ‘Lord of the Rings’, expect for: Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, Frodo, Sam, Boromir, Merry, Pippin, Arwen, Elrond, Glorfindel, Morpheus, Eowyn, Peter Parker, Galadriel, Celeborn, Alan Partridge, Erestor, George Bush (what? He’s not fictional?), Biffur, Boffur, Buffy, Bombur, Beor, Bregolas, Elladan, Elrohir, Belegund, Baragund and Barrister, Elwing, X-wing, Goldwing, Wing Zero, Heero, Gondor, Gundor, Gundam, Galdor (don’t you think it should end soon), Tuor, Troy, Turin, Milan, Mulan, Mordor, Morrrrrrdor, Nazgul, Uruk-Hai, Suruman, Gollum, Treebread, Blue Beard, Jack Sparrow, Shelob and a few others we may have forgotten to mention.

Chapter 3- Athelas is Not the Only Fruit.

We couldn’t be bothered to write a boring, lengthy set of farewells, so the were none. Before anyone realised that they had left, the Fellowship were miles away.
We rejoin them that afternoon, when they were several days journey away from Rivendell. They journeyed east, through the foothills towards the Misty Mountains, hoping to reach them before nightfall. They did consider passing through Moria, but Gandalf still felt uneasy about the place, and nobody was stupid enough to disagree with him this time.
They arrived at the entrance to the pass at sunset and Gaurbrith looked nervously at the narrow, darkening path ahead of them.
“Would it not be a good idea to camp here and ascend into the mountains with the sun upon us?”
“Nah, we can go further in darkness,” replied Legolas.
“But I hear there are monsters in these mountains.”
“Nothing really bad ever happens to us,” Merry said.
“Speak for yourself,” muttered Boromir.

They trekked on until the sides of the valley rose high on either side of them, the kind of terrain prefect for ambushes. At this point they set up camp.
When they were sitting by the fire, Gandalf stood up and said, “I must leave. I have pressing matters to attend to, matters that are more important and less dangerous. Don’t worry, though; I’ll be gone just long enough for you to miss me. Aragorn is in charge.” And with that he rose and was quickly lost from sight.
“Hold on, I want to be in charge for once. Why is Aragorn always the leader?” protested Frodo.
Sam rushed to back his master up. “Aye, that’s roight! What qualifications does Mr. Strider have?”
King Aragorn polished his crown. “Okay,” he said, once he felt that his point had been made. “We’ll take a vote on it. How many people think that Frodo should be the leader?” The hands of the four hobbits shot up. Pippin raised both of his hands in the hopes of getting two votes. “And who thinks I, King of Gondor, leader of the last Fellowship-”
“Wasn’t that the one that collapsed after a couple of weeks under your leadership?” interrupted Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion.
Aragorn bristled “T’was Boromir’s fault.”
“What can I say; I’m a weak man,” shrugged Boromir.
Let’s not dwell on the past. Votes for me, raise your hands.” Everyone put up their hand, apart from Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion, who felt it below him.
Frodo stomped off, muttering darkly. “Darkly,” he muttered. “Darkly, darkly.”
Aragorn stood up and started giving orders. “I want me, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir and Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion to separate, spread out and forage for food. That will leave the hobbits and Gaurbrith alone around the beacon. Sorry, I meant campfire.”
“Let’s have a sing-along so we can be heard for miles around,” said Pippin.
“Oh dear,” said Gaurbrith.

Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion was foraging for food under the nearby cliffs, when he heard the enthusiastic singing turn suddenly into even more enthusiastic yelps of terror. He was considering the best course of action (to rescue or not to rescue) when Aragorn rushed past, sword in hand, yelling “I’ll save you!” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion would have shrugged, if he had not felt it below him, and he set off back to the camp at a relaxed pace. By the time he arrived at the campsite, the battle was in full swing.
The hobbits were in the thick of things, charmingly enthusiastic but not, to be honest, very useful.
Boromir was in fine form after finally learning that arrows are best avoided. His sword sang as he cut down the fowl orcish fiends. Gimli hacked legs with ease, forming one point of a deadly triangle with Legolas and Aragorn on either side. Legolas fired his Lothlorien arrows with deadly aim. Gaurbrith crouched in the centre of this triangle looking particularly smug that he’d found a safe spot.
Seeing that everything was in order, so to speak, Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion ambled around the edge of the melee, picking off, with elven grace, any fiend who dared to approach him. It was going rather well, all considered, when the inevitable happened.
Boromir stumbled back, staring at the arrow protruding from his chest. “Bloody hell, not again!” he said in disbelief, before striding back into the fray. Gimli felled the archer with a hefty blow from his axe. The battle finished quickly after that, and Aragorn quickly gathered the group together.
“We are most fortunate to come out relatively unharmed,” he commented, tending to a sting on Sam’s ankle, received from a stinging nettle.
“Uh, erm,” coughed Boromir.
“Aragorn, I believe Boromir is trying to get your attention,” said Frodo with a ‘companionable’ arm around Sam as he dealt with the pain.
Boromir waved their concerns away. “No, not at all, I was just coughing because my lungs are filling with blood. His Majesty can come to me in his own time.”
“Was that sarcasm or not?” Gaurbrith asked Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion with bemusement.
“Do you know, I actually think it was not,” said Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion, equally confused.
Legolas stepped forward. “Here, allow me to assist you, Boromir.” Legolas grabbed the arrow and tugged. “Hang on, this is really stuck. Let me get a better grip.” Sweeping his hair to one side in slow motion, he took a firm grip with both hands on the black shaft of the arrow. He tugged yet again, harder this time, with Boromir pulling backwards and wincing. Still the arrow remained stuck fast between his ribs.
“Hang on, I have an idea. Boromir, kneel down.” Boromir did as he was bidden, lowering himself to one knee. Legolas placed one foot on his chest. “I need something to brace against,” he explained. Legolas gave a powerful heave and the arrow finally came loose, rather more quickly than he had expected. He tumbled backwards, straight onto an awaiting dagger.
“So much for elven grace,” smirked Gimli.
Everyone gathered around the prone Legolas, the dark blade protruding from his shoulder. To add insult to injury, Boromir coughed, spraying Legolas with droplets of blood. Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion turned on him.
“How could you? First you cause this injury by allowing yourself to get shot, and now you mar his elven beauty with your lowly human blood. Is nothing sacred!?”
Aragorn sprang into action. Turning to Merry, he said, “Legolas needs treatment. Go and gather as much Athelas as you can find.” Merry scuttled off.
Boromir coughed again.
“Pippin, go gather some Athelas for Boromir’s cough.”
“Mr. Strider, sir, my ankle is still stinging.”
Aragorn thought for a moment. What you need is some Athelas to rub on it.”
Merry and Pippin soon returned, arms full with Kings’ Foil. Aragorn handed a sheaf to Boromir. “Chew one of these three times a day and that sore throat will clear right up.”
Boromir shrugged and went off to bleed in peace.
Aragorn turned his attention to his ‘soul brother’, Legolas. He instructed Gaurbrith to boil some water and bring it to him. He infused it with Athelas leaves and, tearing off a strip of his cloak, he soaked it in the infusion and applied it to Legolas’ wound.
“Aragorn, we do have proper bandages,” said Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion. However, this was lost on Aragorn, who was concentrating on his patient. All his efforts seemed to be in vain, as Legolas was now in a high fever. Gimli kneeled by his side, dabbing his forehead with the boiling Athelas water, as Aragorn had instructed him. He muttered words of reassurance; he was not about to be out-done by Aragorn. Legolas, however, appeared to be delirious, muttering about his forehead being on fire. Aragorn decided it was time for drastic measures.
“Gaurbrith, add Athelas to this infusion.”
“So that’s Athelas, added to Athelas,” said Gaurbrith sceptically.
“And water,” added Aragorn.
“So that’s Athelas, Athelas . . . and water.” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion concluded.
“The prefect combination!”
Gaurbrith held his head in both hands.
“You look like you have a headache,” observed Aragorn. “Would you like some Athelas for that?” Gaurbrith wandered off, shaking his head.
As his friend, Frodo felt it was his duty' to intervene. “Aragorn, you do realise there are other herbs, besides Athelas?”
Aragorn looked at Frodo blankly. Frodo tried again. “Not all ailments can be cured with Athelas. There are other treatments.”
“Surely, you jest! Athelas has served me well in the wilderness for many years. No other plant has its healing properties.”
“No, I’m telling you Aragorn-” but they were interrupted by Legolas.
“My friends, I fear my time in Middle Earth draws to a close.”
Gimli retorted quickly. “Nah, laddie, you’ve got centuries of life in you. Once we have finished on this quest, you must come with me to see the great caves of the dwarves. You will marvel at the halls my kin have built, and see that great craftsmanship did not end with the great elves of yore. Surely, that is something worth surviving for.” A tear trickled down Gimli’s cheek. “Our friendship is far too strong to be beaten by mere death; it shines more brightly then the most wondrous gems cut by my kin. You must survive, Legolas; if not for yourself, then for me.”
Legolas smiled weakly. “Thank you, Gimli, that was very cheesy.”
“So let me get this straight,” Aragorn was saying. “There are herbs which have healing properties, which are not Athelas?”
“Yes!” said Frodo triumphantly. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“No, that doesn’t sound right.”
Legolas fell into the dark embrace of unconsciousness. Gimli was on the edge of tears. “If that elf dies, it will break my heart.”
“Do you know what works real well for a broken heart?” Aragorn asked.
“No,” said Gimli, falling straight into the trap.
Aragorn smiled. “Athelas.”

End of Chapter 3

*pause* I just figured that those so-called disclaimers aren't completely serious... (are they?) I'm slow XD
This chapter's nice! Keep up the good work ^_^ I'm loving it so far :)

hahaha, brilliant chapter!! ahh well done! its an awesome fan fic/spoof!!

Athéniel Egleriannen hehe, I'm sorry but that's qutie funny :hug: Than you both for responding.

Pelican Stop Market, Chapter 4: Legolas Dies

Disclaimer:I don’t own the rights to Lord of the Rings, but I do have the rings for Lord of the Rights.

Legolas saw a mysterious and ominous light. Looking around, Legolas could see nothing else interesting, so he did what came naturally. As he approached, the light grew larger and more ominous. He was soon starting to think he had chosen wrongly.

“He’s stopped breathing!” cried Aragorn. “Someone must give him the Kiss of Life.” There was a rush of volunteers, including several fan-girl readers.

While the struggle of competing first-aiders continued, Legolas’ soul rose from his body as a ball of white light.

“Nnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo pause for breath oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,” cried Gimli, as the soul of the elf prince soared over the tree-line and disappeared over the western horizon.

“I have never seen that happen before,” commented Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarseregedhelthalion.

“Call it artistic licence,” replied Boromir, before collapsing into manly tears and taking another bite of athelas.

The reaction shots (with melancholy Celtic-style background music) registered the shock and grief of the Fellowship. Some were wailing and tearing at their long, red, dwarvish beards (mentioning no names). Others wept and said it should have been them (and who are we to argue). Others just stared at the corpse, which was just as beautiful as it had ever been in life.

Aragorn was angry at himself. “This is all my fault. I should have foreseen his fate in the future and prevented it. Due to my terrible error, I have lost a friend; but more, I have lost a soul brother. I will now go through a stage of grief and self-loathing, which will be tedious and boring, and we will all be very tired of it long before it is finished.”

Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarseregedhelthalion calmly muttered the elven burial rites as he idly puzzled over who now stood to inherit the Mirkwood throne.

Tears were rolling down Gaurbrith’s cheeks. “Alas, poor Legolas, I knew him well … or at least, as well as you can know someone you’ve met once at a banquet wandered through the wilderness for a day or so with. He seemed like a good guy, though.” Gaurbrith paused, realising he’d punctured the atmosphere. Even the background music had stopped. “Oh, I will mourn him until the end of my days!” he amended emotionally.

Pippin was distraught and, as usual, somewhat confused as well. “No! Legolas cannot be gone. We need to get him back somehow.”

Frodo shook his head sadly, and placed a comforting hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “I am afraid it’s too late, Pippin. He has passed into the West, into Valinor and the Halls of Mandos.”

“No! We must bring him back.” Pippin picked up his rucksack. “Which way is the West?”*

Nobody saw fit to dignify his question with an answer.

“While we’re very, very loosely on the subject of the West,” said Sam, “why are you here and not there, Mister Frodo?”

Frodo looked awkward. “Oh, er, never you mind, Sam. Just you carry on being a bumbling gardener and leave the thinking to me.”

“If you say so, Master Frodo,” and nothing more was said on the matter…

The sound of orc horns came up from the lower reaches of the Valley, indicating that it was time to move on.

“We need to move on,” said Aragorn. He turned to the elven corpse. “Farewell, Legolas. The songs in Mirkwood will be sad when I bring King Thranduil news of your passing. It grieves my heart that I will never again see you walk among your beloved trees.”

Boromir turned to Aragorn. “Perhaps we should take the time to bury him.”

“He didn’t mean that much to me,” said Strider, and strode off.



Legolas found himself in the Halls of Waiting. He was waiting. He sat on a plastic chair, between an elderly elf and a young mother with a fidgety child. He was reading a six-decade-old copy of Mae Govannen. The Halls of Waiting was a long corridor with plastic seats lining each wall. The décor was bland and the tinny muzak coming from no identifiable source was just loud enough to assault their sensitive elvish ears.

“Calling no. 4896,” echoed a voice from down the hallway, in tones that may once have been mellifluous, but were now anything but. An elf stood up and walked down the hallway.

The elderly elf started to complain. “I’ve been waiting here for millennia, and he only got here a couple of centuries ago. Why can’t they keep us in the right order?”

The mother sighed, trying to hold the keep the wriggling child in her lap. An elf opposite them leaned forward conspiratorially. “I hear they bump great heroes and people from legends up the list.”

The elf next to him nodded in agreement. “You know that if Galadriel ever gets here, she’ll wander straight through.”

The men sighed in longing. “Galadriel…”

They heard the faint sound of the door opening, and an incandescent brightness flooded down the corridor. For a moment, they were at peace, and then the door closed and they remembered their boredom.

“Nareth, are we nearly there yet?” whined the child.

“Soon. I’ll tell you when it’s our turn, so sit down and shut up.”

“That is a little harsh, isn’t it?” asked Legolas. “After all, he is just a child.”

“He is 400 years old, and should know better,” snapped the mother.

Legolas stood up, slightly embarrassed. “Is there a restroom anywhere nearby?”

“You do that and you’ll lose your seat,” said the old man. Legolas promptly sat down again.

After sitting in silence for an extended period, they heard the announcement: “Calling nos. 24,867 and 24,868.”

The mother stood with dignity, and smugly walked past the irritated old man down the hallway with her child. The old elf growled. “I can’t stand this any longer! How much longer are we going to be made to wait here?”

Legolas shrugged. “Hey, we’re not getting any older,” and he settled down to read about the latest fashions in Gondolin.



The party’s mood was dejected as they trudged through the undergrowth of the mountain pass. “What are we going to do?” grumbled Gimli. “We’re only one day out from Rivendell and our party is already down to nine.”

At the mention of the number nine, Boromir winced. It was, after all, his unlucky number. For comfort, he swallowed a few more leaves of Athelas, and sighed.

Pippin looked confused. “Have we lost someone?”

Aragorn looked at him in shock. “Yes. Our faithful and noble companion Legolas is deeeaaaad!”

“Nooo! Why did you have to remind me? I was trying to repress the memory, and I had nearly convinced myself that that bush over there was him.”

Merry squinted into the undergrowth. “Actually, I do see what you mean. It is quite a bishie bush.” He smirked at this for a moment, and then fell back into despair.

“No matter how much our hearts weep, we have a quest to fulfil. We must carry on, and complete this quest. It is what Legolas would have wanted,” Aragorn said, choking back a sob.

Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarseregedhelthalion sniffed contemptuously. “If I die, I wish for all Middle Earth to stop and spend years in uninterrupted mourning.”

Everyone chose to ignore this.

As they trudged on, Sam said “Oh, Master Frodo, I so wish Gandalf was still here. I do miss him.”

“As do I, Sam,” replied Frodo. “As do I.”



Gandalf tripped over and fell, sprawling onto the ground. “Damn it, who left this beautiful elf corpse lying around!? Damn careless, if you ask me,” he said irritably. He looked at the corpse. “Oh! Oh dear…”



As Legolas sat, perusing an article entitled ‘So You’re Thinking About Buying a Horse’, two Maiar marched up to him. “Are you Legolas?” intoned one of them.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Legolas Greenleaf?”

“Yes?”

“I think you had better come with us.”

Legolas worried as he was lead away between the two Maiar, both of whom were unreasonably large. As he walked past, he heard the old elf mutter something about heroes jumping the queue, but he ignored it.

Legolas walked and worried. Then he continued walking, and worried some more. Time passed, and Legolas grew tired of worrying, so he fretted instead. As he returned to worrying, he observed that the corridor was in no danger of ending. The door seemed just as distant as it ever had. Legolas knew the trick to this; he went to a flashback.

-Flashback-

WHOOSH-THUNK!

“Well done, ion nín, Legolas. You have mastered the skills involved in the firing of a bow.”

“Thank you, ada. I hope in time to be able to actually hit the target.”

Thranduil nodded sagely. “Then you will be the best archer in Mirkwood. You must not overstretch yourself, though.”

“I shall be guided by you, ada.”

He put a fatherly hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “Now, let us go and see if that servant you hit is still alive.”

“You mean your nephew?”

“Truly.”

-End flashback-

“These are the doors to the chamber of the Vala, Mandos.”

Legolas smirked. Works every time. He went to knock on the door, but it opened before he could touch it. Shrugging, he entered.

He found himself in an office. A couple of filing cabinets were up against one wall, and a large desk with a rickety stool in front of it and a plush leather chair behind it occupied the centre of the room. The chair swivelled stylishly around to face him. He saw what appeared to be a handsome elf sitting in the chair, his fingertips pressed together. In fact, he was the most attractive elf Legolas had ever seen, which irritated him, for Legolas had always considered himself to be the most attractive elf he had ever seen.

The elf was about to speak, when a voice boomed across the room: “FËANOR! Get out of my damn office!”

Fëanor grudgingly stood up.

Legolas looked on in amazement as the leather chair transformed into Mandos, a Master of Spirits.

“How long have you been there?” asked Fëanor irritably.

“Long enough. NOW GET OUT! I’ve told you before to stay in the Waiting Halls.”

“How long do I have to wait?”

“Until you’ve learnt your lesson.”

Fëanor sulked out and slammed the door behind him. “Now, Legolas, please take a seat.”

Legolas sat down on the stool. “What seems to be the problem, O Mightiest of the Mighty, Lord Vala?”

“Don’t overdo it, kid. The fact of the matter is that you’re not supposed to be here.”

“It wasn’t my idea. Blame the horde of orcs that attacked us.”

“Actually, I’d look past that to the writers. We’ve tried to warn them, but they still seem to think killing you is ‘fun’.”

“So I should still be alive?”

“As my good friend Oromë would say, ‘right’s right, old chap’. So, I’m going to be sending you back.”

“Wow. You don’t do that very often.”

“I’m not supposed to do it, but I like you and, hey, what’s the point of being an all-powerful Divine Being if you can’t bend the rules once in a while? Just look at Glorfindel.”

“Thank you, O Vala.”

“Drop by some time. I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”

Legolas bowed out of the room and closed the door.

“And again, and again, and again…”



One unnecessary flashback later, Legolas was passing the deceased elves with whom he had been sitting in the Halls of Waiting. Legolas greeted them enthusiastically. “My noble companions! The wondrous Valar have allowed me a second chance at life. In other words, I’m outta here. Perhaps I shall see you all again one day.”

“We’ll be Waiting.”



Shadowfax sped along the dawn-lit valley, carrying Gandalf and Legolas on his back. Legolas was explaining the series of unfortunate events that had lead to his death, and the series of improbable events that had followed it.

Gandalf shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have left Aragorn as leader. Whenever he is in charge, somebody always seems to end up dead.”

“Well, there was that time -” Legolas started.

“Don’t be naïve, Legolas. I didn’t really leave him in charge that time. I only told him that to stop him crying. By the Valar, I can’t stand toddlers!”

“None of the hobbits died on the way from Bree to Imladris,” Legolas persisted, trying to protect his ‘soul-brother’.

“Only because Glorfindel/Arwen was there to bail him out.”

“Glorfindel/Arwen?”

“It depends which version you go by.”

Soon, they saw the light of the campfire around which the company were gathered. To Legolas’ surprise, Gandalf commanded Shadowfax to slow down to a walk. “Are we not going to rejoin our Fellowship?”

“Of course we are,” replied Gandalf scornfully, “but we must wait for the opportune moment. We wouldn’t want an anticlimax.”

After dismissing Shadowfax to that place where plot devices reside, Legolas and Gandalf crept over to the bushes and found a comfortable spot which was perfectly hidden, and yet offered an excellent view of the entire party. Then, they waited, and waited, and waited.

As the morning drew on, nobody in the party seemed to want to speak, being content to wallow in grief, occasionally sighing or sobbing (or, in Boromir’s case, chewing Athelas leaves). They waited some more.

With the sun approaching its’ highest point, Legolas felt that this stand-off might have gone on for too long. “Mithrandir, what exactly are we waiting for?”

“Shh! You’ll see,” he said enigmatically. Even though this explained nothing, Legolas resettled into the waiting. Given the events of the chapter, Legolas considered that this would be good practice for what was to come.

Finally, Pippin broke the silence. “I wish Gandalf was here.”

“That’s my cue!” muttered the White Wizard. Legolas nodded with understanding, and together they strode heroically into the clearing.

End of Chapter 4

*this is actually a referance, can anyone guess where from.

The chapters get better every time ^_^ *applauds* That made me laugh :P
At first I was going to mention that was a reference to a moment in LotR, but now I'm not so sure. It's not a reference to LotR, is it?

Close but no cigar. Right world wrong book.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any rights to Lord of the Rings, but I do own the DVD’s, the books, the poster, the pencils, the postcards, the calendar, the action figures, the CD’s and the limited Edition 5000 volume Autobiography of Galadriel (it seemed a bit rushed to me).

Chapter 5: Galadriel knows all the answers.

Galadriel stood at the Mirror of Galadriel, staring into its’ enchanted waters. In a succession of long helicopter shots, she observed the progress of the Fellowship as they travelled over the Misty Mountains, and south through the eastern foothills, to her woodland domain. Only she could see the images in the murky waters of the pool. A subtle smile touched her regal lips (hang on a minute, since when can lips be regal?).
Two guards were passing the clearing where the Mirror could be found. One commented to the other, “She’s been staring into that mirror for two days.”
“Yeah, how vain can you be?”
Being Galadriel, she had of course heard every word they had said, but she chose not to respond. Galadriel had been following the progress of the neo-Fellowship, ignoring (as she so often did) all restrictions of plot and timeline.
The camera peering over her shoulder zoomed into the picture of the Fellowship, rippling into another helicopter shot.

(&)

The reuniting of Gandalf and Legolas with the rest of the Fellowship was a truly magically joyous moment. Tears of happiness abounded, as did hearty slaps on the back, tight brotherly hugs, and promises that this would never happen again (those poor ignorant fools). However, such joy quickly becomes tedious to write, so we’ll skip straight back to the suffering.
The group were travelling through …. erm …. a hail-storm (yes, that will do). Such weather was unusual for mid-autumn, and this was not mid-autumn, but July. The storm had sprung out of nowhere on the whim of the fanfic writers. Hailstones the size of DONKEYS pleated the ground to either side of them and the cold was more bitter than a chicken Vindaloo. At one point, a hailstone the size of a kettle struck Frodo on the leg, and he fell tumbling down the side of the mountain, into Sam’s awaiting arms. The Fellowship were wetter than a bottle of champagne, but less bubbly, and were shaking like a pneumatic drill operator.
All things considered, they felt it was quite good going that they arrived in Lothlorien that afternoon. Haldir was there to greet them, which surprised the members of the Fellowship following the movie-verse.


----Back at Galadriel’s Mirror----
Celeborn dragged at Galadriel’s arm. “Come on Galadriel, we must greet the guests,” but Galadriel resisted, clinging to the edges of the mirror.
“I want to see what happens next,” she wailed.
(&)

The party stood at the base of the greatest tree in Lothlorien. Towards them came a wondrous sight, a maiden as fair as the sun, and even more ancient. She shone with an inner light which brought joy to all those who beheld it. Her eyes were twin pools of wonder in her divine face, a doorway to the infinite wisdom within. And O, her hair! A waterfall of golden starlight. She wore a dress of purest white, and a circlet of diamonds was mounted upon her radiant locks. Her beauty defied description.
And beside her stood Galadriel, who wore a smile of superiority, unlike her hand-maiden, who wore a sulk of defeat. It’s a wonderful feeling; knowing you’re the best.
Needless to say, at the sight of Galadriel, Gimli was in starry eyed bliss.
“I trust your trip was not too arduous?” she asked gracefully.
“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary,” replied Gandalf.
“WHAT!?” exclaimed Gaurbrith. “What do you mean ‘nothing out of the ordinary’? We trudged through a storm with hailstones as big as bookshelves, and we got attacked by monsters in the Misty Mountains!”
“I died,” Legolas announced proudly.
Galadriel nodded. “Nothing out of the ordinary, then.”
“Hang on, we got here in a ridiculously short amount of time, yet you set off from Rivendell after us and arrived long before us. THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE!!”
“I know a short cut.”
“Then why didn’t you tell us?”
Galadriel smiled enigmatically.
Frustrated, Gaurbrith turned on Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion “And you! You spoke in archaic language when we first met, and now you don’t! What happened there?”
“In sooth, I know not of what thou dost speak,” replied Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion innocently. “My speech hath remained truly constant.”
With growing frustration Gaurbrith rounded on Boromir. “You’re the worst! Before the end of the last chapter, you were addicted to Athelas!”
“I go through these phrases: drug addiction. Evilness. Death.”
Gaurbrith sank his head into his hands, and disappeared from the chapter.
“You have come to the woods of Lothlorien, after your long and tedious journey,” Galadriel continued patronizingly. Celeborn sidled up to Aragorn. “She’s such a T.V. critic these days. Too much Mirror if you ask me.”
“Celeborn!” Galadriel snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground beside her. Celeborn stuck his hands in his pockets and moped over to where Galadriel was pointing, kicking the rich Lothlorien dirt as he went.
“You may stay in Lothlorien while you rest and regain your strength. You may replenish your supplies, which have greatly diminished.”
“How do you know?” Frodo spoke up.
“Because I know everything,” Galadriel replied serenely. She paused for a moment before saying “Stop that Gimli!”
Gimli blushed, and Celeborn glared at him.
“I will also personally tend to your wounds, for I am almost as skilled a healer as Elrond.”
Suddenly Gimli cried out, “Ohhh! Ahh! Owww! I’m suffering from a terrible, er, thigh strain. I got it fighting … orcs.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye to Galadriel. “I think it may need a massage.”
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion stealthily walked up behind Gimli and smacked him round the head. “Insult ye not the Lady Galadriel with thy dwarven oafishness.”
Legolas leaped to his friend’s defence. “Leave him alone. It’s not his fault that he’s a dwarfish oaf.”
“Thanks,” said Gimli sarcastically, rubbing the back of his head.
“For now, I invite you onto one of my flets, where a feast has been prepared. There, we shall await the arrival of Lady Arwen’s party from Imladris.
“How did you know we were coming?” called Arwen from across the clearing.
“Because I know everything.”

(&)

Wondrous to behold, the feast was set out on low tables surrounded by cushions to sit on, in a layout obviously stolen from feudal Japan. On the tables were a great number of plates piled high with lembas bread, yae, even unto the height of a medium-sized dog. Everyone gratefully sat down and helped themselves to lembas bread, but Frodo and Sam were looking slightly green until the rest of the food was brought in, at which point they released a joint sigh of relief.
As the next-highest ranking elf, Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion felt it was his privilege to sit beside his hosts. Celeborn, who had never heard of him or his realm before, still chatted politely. As it so often does, especially in this fanfic, the subject of Valinor soon came up.
“I’ve never entirely agreed,” commented Celeborn, “with them being called the Undying Lands. After all, people did die there.”
“So the legends say, but then the Dead Marshes are teeming with life, just like all marshes,” added Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion.
“For that matter, is the Brandywine River in the least bit alcoholic?”
“Has a shirt ever been ironed in the Iron Hills?”
“And what possessed the Valar to name their council chamber ‘the Ring of Doom’? They must have had high hopes for the future.”
“Have you ever been to Valinor?”
“No. I met Galadriel here in the kingdom of Doriath. I was on my way there with Galadriel, Bilbo, Frodo, Gandalf, Elrond and possibly Cirdan, but … we didn’t make it.”
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion leaned forward eagerly. “Why not? What happened?”
Lord Celeborn shrugged. “I don’t know. I just follow Galadriel. If she says we’re going back to Lothlorien then we’re going back to Lothlorien.”
At the moment, Tom Bombadil bounded into the hall of feasting. With verve and enthusiasm, he danced to the rhythm of his own melodious voice. In his poetic style, he greeted one and all.
“Greetings to you,
And greetings to thee.
Greetings to all
In this mallorn tree.

When we gather,
to hold a feast,
We eat soft crumbly lembas
And drink beer of the yeast.”

“Beer of the yeast?” inquired a local elf as he walked by, “that’s a bit of a weak rhyme.”

“When I improvise on the spot
Some rhymes are golden, others are rot.”

Besides,” said the elf’s partner, “We elves of Lorien don’t drink beer.”
The lord of the Old Forest froze, and slowly brought one finger to his lips “Shh!” he said before prancing off, spouting more rhymes of inconsistent quality.
Growing tired of Gimli’s drooling (and slightly disturbing thoughts), Galadriel had filled the seat next to her with the first thing to hand, which just happened to be Sam Gamgee. This also gave her the opportunity to inquire about Sam’s family.
“So, how fares my namesake?”
“You mean lil’ Goldilocks?”
“Yes, that bonny flaxen-haired little lady. She was so cheerful and full of life when last we met.”
Sam nodded. “On ’er 13th birthday, she dyed her hair black and ever since she has insisted on wearin’ only black clothing and black make-up and calling ’erself ‘Sauronouska, Apprentice to the Witch King.’”
Galadriel nodded in understanding. “I remember going through that phase; one grows out of these things within a couple of centur- I mean years.”
“I do ‘ope so m’Lady. She don’t ‘alf look stupid. Hobbits were never meant to look gothic, and now she’s got together with some of her friends and formed a musical band called ‘Uruk-Hai.”
Their conversation was drowned out by the enthusiastic song of the Lord of the Old Forest.
“Old lady G,
In your canteen,
With hair silky smooth,
You must use Pantene.”

Everyone within hearing distance winced.
“What? You think you could do better?”
At that moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Oi! You shouldn’t be here! Get back to your basket!”
Head bowed, he was led out of the hall by the Lothlorien soldier. In the corridor, they were stopped by one of Arwen’s party.
“Where do you think you’re taking him?”
“Back to his basket, of course.”
“But he belongs to us,” protested the Imladris guard.
“No, you swapped him for a couple of packets of cigarettes, earlier today.”
“Sorry, you’re right, it completely slipped my mind.”
“Actually, I’m glad I bumped into you. You explained how often I should feed him and take him for walks, but when should I use this muzzle?”
“Only when he gets over-excited. We’re not slave drivers, after all.”

End of Chapter 5.

There you go, this wasn’t our best chapter, the next one should be better.

:yesnod: ahh awesome chapters!!! wonder what happens next ... i look foward to it !!!

What do you mean, it was not your best chapter? Heheh, that really made my day :D I'm really anticipating the next chapter too. And as for that reference, I guess you'll have to tell us ;)

I guess you'll find out what happens Hobbit.
Oh dear Athéniel, I guess I will have to tell you then. It's the bit in the silmirillion where it says (and I quote):
'Some men still desired to go west, but did not know the way." It's my favourite line in the book :D I'm glad it made your day :D

Disclaimer: *Sarcastic voice* Yes, I own LotR, that’s why I’m sitting here writing rubbishy fanfics for zero profit.

Chapter 6: Whatever Happened to Haldir?

Two elves walked into a bar, but that’s another story.

(&)

Arwen and Galadriel walked into the trendiest of trendy bars in Lothlorien. It was extremely trendy, with great big glass windows, white-washed walls hung with abstract paintings and large mirrors (you can see why Galadriel came here), and a bar made from chrome and marble, behind which were Chilean wines and alco-pops at vastly inflated prices.
The two elven ladies walked over to the bar and sat down on the twirly stools there.
“What can I get you two ladies?” asked Gandalf from behind the bar, polishing a wine glass. Galadriel turned to look out of the window, into the square.
Arwen looked at the cocktail list. “I’ll have a Long Isen Ice-Tea, and Galadriel will have a…” Arwen paused to receive Galadriel’s mental message, “white wine.”
“Just one bottle will do,” Galadriel said, turning towards the barman.
Gandalf placed a glass in front of Galadriel and slung the towel over his shoulder. Pulling back the long sleeves of his robe, he started mixing the cocktail.
While they waited, Arwen turned to Galadriel, “I didn’t get a good chance to talk to you at the random party at my Ada’s house.”
“Yes, it did get rather interrupted by that whole poisoning business. Most inconsiderate, if you ask me. Of course, I foresaw it would happen.”
“Naturally,” Arwen agreed. “In fact, now that I have thought on it, we have not spoken in depth since you left to sail into the west. I expected never to see you again.”
“It’s a bit of a long story.”
Gandalf placed the drinks in front of them. “Maybe I should explain. After all, I am the expert at long explanations.”
He crossed his arms on the bar and leaned forward conspiratorially. Arwen twirled the umbrella from her cocktail, expecting something long and tedious. Galadriel was looking back out through the window again.
“We journeyed from the Grey Havens for four days, meeting neither man nor beast. The waves swelled and beat the sides of the ship, calming the souls of those tired of life on Middle-Earth. If any among us had been ill-at-ease on our departure-”
Arwen interrupted; “Is this story actually going anywhere? Honestly, sometimes you sound like an Ent!”
Gandalf harrumphed and muttered something about being hasty. “Very well, I will indulge your impatience. When we got to Valinor they had moved it.”
“What?!!1!one” Arwen exclaimed. Galadriel turned and raised an eyebrow in a way that expressed everything that needed to be said. All elf lords and ladies are taught this skill from an early age. Elrond was widely acknowledged as the master, but Galadriel enjoyed using it from time to time.
“Aha!” Gandalf said smugly, “Now you want context. As you wish: we arrived at the location of the Undying Lands, but found neither sight nor sound of them. Evidently, the Valar will not deign to let such as us into their kingdom. It is a true testament to the power of the Valar over our world.”
“Oi, Barman!” someone conveniently interrupted.
“Excuse me, I’m being called away,” and with that he left, his robe sleeve knocking over someone’s wine glass on the way.
“Truly, that is a remarkable story, grandma,” commented Arwen as they left the bar stools to find somewhere to sit.
“It’s also a load of bullocks,” Galadriel said as she sat down on a plush leather sofa. Arwen sat down facing her.
“So, what did happen then?”
“To my total lack of surprise, we got lost.”
Arwen rolled her eyes upwards. “Men.”
“I know. I told them that turning left all the time wouldn’t get them to Valinor.”
Arwen sighed and shrugged. “It’s always with the left.”
“They wouldn’t even stop for directions like any reasonable elf.”
“They’re always so concerned with preserving their manly pride. You’d think they might prioritize eternal peace in the land of the Gods over their pride, but it seemeth not. Aragorn’s just the same. At least Faramir knows when to ask a woman for help.”

----Meanwhile in Minas Tirith----
Lady Eowyn sat in the Stewards chair, polishing her nails.
“My lady, your plan was a stroke of genius,” said an advisor.
“I’m sure that Faramir would have thought of it eventually.”
“Oh no, Eowyn, it would never have occurred to me to allow the cliff face to collapse onto the prison where the explosives were being held.” Faramir’s head was rested on Eowyn’s knee, and every now and then he would sigh gratefully.
At that moment, the diplomat from the southern cities entered, carrying a large piece of parchment. “Lady Steward, we have decided to dissolve our alliance and rejoin the kingdom of Gondor. The concessions you offered us are exceptionally reasonable, while not inconveniencing Minas Tirith in any way. Your negotiation skills are admirable, as is your knowledge of southern lore and traditions. We are ready for you to sign the treaty immediately.”
Eowyn took the pen she was handed and gave it to Faramir “You're the steward darling, you have to sign all official documents.”
“Ah, but I will always defer to you. You are so much more wise and cunning than me.”
“I know. Now why don’t you sign that and run off to make me some tea.”


“Do you mind if we switch places?” Galadriel asked Arwen. They both stood up and switched places so that Galadriel was facing the wall and Arwen could see out of the window to the bin Gimli was hiding in, with a pair of binoculars.

(&)

Celeborn glared at Gimli as he and Aragorn walked past and into the pub behind Gimli’s bin.
It was the gruffest of gruff pubs in Lothlorien. The windows were of dusty, misted glass, of the kind that lets hardly any light in. All furniture was made of good solid oak. All of it, from the stools to the tables, to the bar, to the oak panelling on the walls. Dozens of animal heads had been stuffed, mounted and hung up by the regulars. Every so often, a piece of crockery would come flying across the room from the perpetual brawl that raged to one side. The only woman in the entire building was a busty bar wench, who served customers one or more of the two drinks available: ale and rum.
Aragorn and Celeborn sat down on a wobbly bench at one of the tables.
“Oi! Barmaid,” shouted Celeborn, “Two drinks over here now.”
“Screw you!” she shouted back.
“They’ll be along in a minute,” he told Aragorn.
“Which drinks are we getting?”
Celeborn shrugged. “Luck of the draw.”
Aragorn leaned forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Gosh, it disturbs me to see you Celeborn, looking so down in the dumps.” He gestured to the manly crowd. “Everyone here wants to be you Celeborn, even when taking your lumps.” The crowd cheered, raising their ale mugs into the air, spilling large quantities of ale.
“I’m fed up with dwarves eyeing up my wife. It makes me feel so insecure, but she just thinks it’s funny.”
“I know what you mean,” replied Aragorn. “Everyone knows that Arwen’s the most beautiful woman in Gondor. People take the flimsiest excuses to come to Minas Tirith and chat her up. I’ve heard them all; ‘I left my horse here’, ‘I heard about this new restaurant’, ‘I live here’. Someone came to the palace, pretending to be an envoy of peace from the Haradrim, and I decided that I’d had enough. I just had his head lopped right off.”
“Hang on a minute, I think I heard about that. When was it?”
“About two years back, just before that unfortunate war business.”
Celeborn looked like he was about to comment on this, but changed his mind. “At least they’re all proper men, a worthy opponent. I have the embarrassment of competing with a bearded stunty. Gimli just gets right up my nose. Next time he tries something on I’m going to slap him so hard…”
“Shh! This is a manly pub. You’ve got to punch, man, punch!”
“To be fair, I get the impression that she’s becoming tired of it too. She’s been around long enough that she’s got the experience to be classy about it. You know, dropping subtle hints like telling him to stop it.”
“Yeah, I’ve always admired that kind of subtlety.”
The barmaid’s hips swished towards them, accompanied (as they so often are) by the rest of the body. She set two full pint tankards in front of them, one with ale and the other with rum. They paid her and immediately took large swigs followed by heavy coughs and winces. When the barmaid walked away, looking confused, Celeborn tapped Aragorn on the shoulder.
“You forgot to slap her on the arse,” he hissed.
“But I’m a married man.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
At that moment, they were approached by a tall man with improbably large muscles and a chin cleft big enough to ski down. “Excuse me, but that is my table. The only person allowed to sit there is I, Gaston-”
“And I, Le Fou.”
Le Fou was immediately knocked to the ground by a blow from Gaston.
Celeborn wasn’t intimidated. “I don’t see your name on it. What do you suggest we do about it?”
“Well, maybe you should stand up and move on.”
Aragorn stood up. “Well, maybe I should stand up and smash your face in.” He rolled up his sleeve in preparation.
Gaston looked angry for a moment, but then he grinned and slapped Aragorn on the back. The blow would have knocked a less kingly man to the ground.
“I like you!” he said. “You’re needlessly violent. Come have a drink with me. I was just discussing my plans to marry Belle and kill the Beast.”
At that moment a young man flew past from the continuous brawl and hit the wall behind them.
“No thanks, er, Gaston,” Celeborn said, as if nothing had happened. The young man stood up, unnoticed, dusted himself down and returned to the fight, fists flying.
As they were leaving, they stepped aside and admitted a man dragging a dead bear behind him. He walked over to the bar and leaned on it.
“Barman,” he said in a gruff, manly voice. “I just killed this bear with one arm tied behind my back. I would like it stuffed and mounted on your wall.”
“Oh, I’m not sure if we have enough room, and it’s just not impressive enough to replace any on the wall.”

(&)

As we return to Arwen Evenstar and her granny, they are talking about the men in their life.
“You certainly have yours well trained,” said Galadriel. “I liked that thing with the cake back in Imladris.”
“I certainly enjoyed it. I only wished he got the right room, but I suppose you can only expect so much.”
“Don’t lose heart so easily. It took me centuries to get Celeborn following instructions properly. But it’s worth it for the occasional … pleasant surprise.”
“Just as long as it’s not more shallow complements. Honestly, just because my stunning beauty is legendary, everyone around me feels the need to spout cheesy chat-up lines. For example, how many times are they going to pretend to mistake me for Luthien? It was cute the first time, but after a while it’s, like, get some originality. I’m not really that similar.”
“Of course not,” Galadriel said in a comforting voice, “She had much bigger tits than you, for a start.”
She glared at Galadriel, but said nothing.

(&)

Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion, Gaurbrith and Haldir walked into a bar … on Tatooine. The bar was dimly lit and was filled with ‘aliens’ (mostly actors in unconvincing prosthetic faces of unlikely colours). Catchy futuristic jazz was the mood music and ugly was the mood. In one corner sat Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker and Lieutenant Commander Worf.
“Quark tells me you’re looking for passage to the Alderan system,” said Commander Worf.
“Yes indeed,” replied Obi-wan, “if it’s a fast ship.”
“A fast ship? You’ve never heard of the Defiant?”
“Should I have?”
“No you shouldn’t; it’s in a completely different universe. However it’s the one that made the Hobbiton to Rivendell run in less then 12 parsecs.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Luke, slightly more on-the-ball than usual. “Isn’t a parsec a measurement of distance, not speed?”
Worf sighed gruffly. “There are two schools of thought on that. The first is that they could pass through an asteroid belt by an unusually direct route, and the second is that the script-writers got it wrong. Take your pick.”
As the elves sat down, Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion wondered to himself why he was here. After all, it wasn’t as if he actually liked Gaurbrith.
They all acquired drinks in the usual, boring way. Gaurbrith started the conversation with a completely irrelevant comment.
“Hold on,” replied Haldir, “Who are you again?”
Gaurbrith sighed. “My name is Gaurbrith, I’m a half…” He was interrupted by a burst of hysterical laughter from Haldir. Then he laughed again, and again. Finally he managed to stop laughing and get his grin under control by looking studiously away from the half-elf’s face. Gaurbrith was about to speak again when Haldir looked into his face again and snorted back into extended giggles.
Eventually, with a final booming guffaw, the elven warrior ground to a halt. “Seriously lad,” he said, “what is your name?”
“Seriously it’s Gaurbrith.”
“Seriously, he’s serious,” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion put in.
“But that’s a silly name. Don’t you agree Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion?”
“It’s true I’ve never heard such a ridiculous name.”
“It’s nearly as ridiculous as being killed at Helms Deep!” He waited expectantly.
“What the hell is the problem with my name?”
“Look it up in the back of the Silmarilion some time. In the mean time, though, go get us some more drinks.”
Gaurbrith wandered up to the bar, counting his change, wondering if they drank the same thing on Tatooine as they did on Middle Earth.
As he was ordering, something grunted at him: something ugly, with a giant, knobbly forehead. It rather reminded him of Gimli. He tried to ignore it, but it pushed him and grunted again.
“He doesn’t like you,” interrupted a pig-nosed alien. “I don’t like you either.”
Gaurbrith wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to this, so he settled for panic-stricken gaping.
“You better watch yourself, we’re wanted men. I have a death sentence in 12 systems.”
“Is any of them Middle Earth?” Gaurbrith found himself saying.
“No. In Middle Earth we just have ASBOs preventing us from going into Mirkwood, Hobbiton, Moria, Rohan, Minas Tirith, the Grey Havens… in fact everywhere but here, Rivendell, and Mordor. But we don’t like Mordor. There’s no-one to beat up there. Anyone from Rivendell is fine by us, though.”
“Er, I’m from near Rivendell. Is that OK?”
The criminal alien squinted at him. “Whereabouts?”
Gaurbrith told him the name of his village. The alien considered this for a moment. “That’s not close enough.”
“I’ll be careful, then,” said Gaurbrith, returning to the original dialogue.
“You’ll be dead!”

“Hey! Some guys are picking on Gaurbrith!” said Haldir.
“Who?” replied Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion with mild curiosity.
*THWACK!*
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion turned around. “Oh yes. So he is.”
The big-forehead guy kicked Gaurbrith in the stomach.
“Shouldn’t we help him?” asked Haldir.
“Why?”
Haldir looked slightly surprised by this reply. As the two thugs put the boot in, Gaurbrith was screaming and begging for help.
“I think I’d better go and help him,” said Haldir.
“Knock yourself out,” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion shrugged. Haldir walked towards the bar. Gaurbrith gave a particular loud yelp. “Even better,” the elven noble muttered, “knock that peredhil out.”
Haldir drew his sword and tapped the alien on the shoulder at the same time. The blade flashed, and the arm of the man started spurting blood. He looked down at it.
“Hang on; you didn’t chop it off properly.”
“I knew my blade needed sharpening.”
“Here, would you like another go?” He held out his damaged arm so Haldir could get a good swing. After a few more hacks, the arm finally thudded to the ground.
As the two aliens fled the bar, Haldir wiped his sword off on the severed arm. With an admirable show of balance, Haldir picked up their tray of drinks with one hand and hauled Gaurbrith to his feet with the other.

Gaurbrith sat in his stool, whimpering, as the conversation continued.
“I had wondered,” said Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion, “what you’re doing here?”
“Oh, this and that,” replied Haldir. “I work as the captain of the guard for Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. I have recently been moonlighting as a Lothlorien tour guide. The pay is awesome, of course, but the tips are great.”
“‘is awesome’?” Gaurbrith spoke up. “Is that Elvish for ‘wonderful’?”
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion whacked him round the head, prompting another fit of whimpering.
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” the elven lord continued.
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“That nasty mess at Helms Deep…”
Haldir sighed. “Ah, all those poor victims of cruel war.”
“I was talking about the mess that was made of the back of your head.”
Comprehension finally dawned. “Oh! You mean my ‘death’?” He held up two fingers on each hand in the universal management symbol for ‘in quotes’. “There’s a perfectly rational, reasonable explanation for that.”
“I’m listening,” said Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion doubtfully.
“The elf who was killed …. was my evil twin brother.”
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion would have sighed were he not a noble elf lord. “Reasonable and rational?..”
“I just nipped into the fortress for a minute, to go to the toilet and when I came out, Aragorn was cradling his corpse. I would have gone over to him but he looked like he was having a bit of a ‘moment’, so I let him be.”
By now, Gaurbrith had recovered enough to re-enter the conversation, but he was still feeling rather disgruntled. “What are we doing on Tatooine anyway? I thought we were supposed to be in Lothlorien?”
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion smiled, but said nothing.
“While we’re on unexplained things, why didn’t Elrond just tell us who had been poisoned? Or Galadriel, who can read people’s minds, has a nifty magic mirror and knows everything?”
“All Elf lords and ladies reserve the right to be enigmatic,” Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion replied. “I think it was handed down by the Valar at some point.”
“What about wizards?”
“Them too.”
“What about you? Aren’t you an elf-lord?”
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion exercised his right. Gaurbrith glared at him. “I’m going to bed.”
As they left the bar, they saw Merry and Pippin walking through the Mallorn trees towards them.
“I can’t be bothered with this!” grumbled Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion.
“Ah! Mr. Elf Lord, I was hoping I’d bump into you,” said Pippin, with more cheer then several series of ‘Cheers’ and ‘Frasier’ put together.
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion passed his hand in front of the hobbit’s eyes. “These aren’t the elves you’re looking for.”
“These aren’t the elves we’re looking for,” repeated Pippin.
“You’re going to stop bothering us now.”
“We’re going to stop bothering you now.”
“Now sod off.”
“Now sod off.”
“No, you sod off.”
“No, you sod off. Oh, right! Bye.”
As the hobbits walked off, Haldir turned to Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion. “Weak minded?”
“You have no idea…”

End of Chapter 6

Awesome chapter ^_^ This has got to be one of the best parodies I've read in a while. heheh.
Dang- I should've figured that reference out. It didn't register across to me what other books there were... bit slow on the uptake, I think.
Question, what does the title 'Pelican Sop Market' have to do with anything? Or is it some other random amusing thing like everything else? XD

haha...

ahhh thats what the reference comes from....

love all the chapters...a good ol' laugh !!

Sorry it's a little late this week :( . I don't really have a good excuse.

Athéniel: The name is just random, iy's a referance to allt hese fanfiction titles that have no/VERY little referance to the actually story.

Hobbity_Goose: you're the first to be told where the referance is from :D

Disclaimer:I don’t own any of the LotR characters. Not even Merry and Pippin. Just don’t tell them that.

Chapter 7: Step Forward Master Hobbit

War! Merry woke up to the sound of knocking on his door.

“Hurry up, Merry. We’re leaving very soon.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Merry said, and went back to sleep.

(&)

A while later, he was re-awoken by loud knocking at the door. He leapt out of bed, rushed over to the door and opened it. Gaurbrith stood in the doorway. “You said you’d be down in a minute…”

Merry interrupted him. “Yeah, there were a couple of things I had to do.” Like sleeping, he thought.

“That was an hour and a half ago, though.”

“Yes, well, it took me a while.”

“Well, hurry up. We’re all saddled to go.” And he turned and left.

Merry shut the door, shrugged and crawled back into bed.

(&)

Boromir kicked down the door, grabbed Merry by the ankle and hauled him out of bed. He was dragged, kicking and screaming, down the corridor, fighting for all he was worth. When they got to the ladder, the hobbit was wriggling like a fish in acid. So Boromir killed him.

“There, that’s more manageable,” he said as he descended the ladder.

At the bottom of the ladder, he laid out Merry’s corpse and went off to join the rest of the group. He arrived just in time to see Pippin being dragged in, still sleeping, by Legolas.

Gimli scratched his head. “How are we going to wake this Halfling?”

“I’ll just go and get some athelas,” said Aragorn.

Frodo stepped forward. “I think I have a better idea,” and he took out a mushroom. “This is as close to breakfast as I can offer on such short notice.”

At the mention of breakfast, Pippin leapt up and dragged the mushroom. “Okay, that’s a start. So, where are the sausages, bacon, ham, tomatoes, onions basil, toast, scrambled eggs, fried eggs, boiled eggs and porridge?”

Frodo put a comforting hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Pip, we have none of them.”

Pippin’s face fell. “Not even the basil?”

Frodo just shook his head, and Pippin flopped dejectedly to the ground. “Where’s Merry?” he said after taking a moment to contemplate his suffering.

“He’s over there,” said Boromir. “I killed him,” he added.

“What!exclamation mark!”

“Oh, he’s okay now. Have a look.”

Sure enough, Galadriel was stood there, passing her hands over the prone Merry. There was a small but impressive light show and Merry sat bolt upright. Galadriel gestured to her arms. “Nothing in my right sleeve, nothing in my left.” She accepted the polite applause of all present.

Pippin ran and gave him a hearty hug (but not at all gay). “How are you feeling?”

Merry jumped up and down, and then ran in a small circle. “I’m absolutely awesometaculspiffy.”

“Awesometaculspiffy?” asked Pippin, looking slightly worried.

“Yeah, top-of-the-morning-and-ready-to-take-on-the-world-with-a-song-in-my-heart-and-a-spring-in-my-step. So-shall-we-get-going-come-on-come-on-come-on! Ooh, butterfly!” and he ran off after the passing butterfly.

“I’m afraid he’ll be a bit hyperactive for a while. One of the side effects of resurrection, you understand.”

The Fellowship looked on in dread as Merry span and danced, giggling like a child.

“We’re not doing well, are we,” commented Gaurbrith. “We’re only 7 chapters in, and we’ve already had 2 deaths, one of them by another member of the Fellowship, and I don’t know where the plotline’s gone.”

“That sounds about average for fan-fiction to me,” said Gandalf.

They all prepared to mount their horses. “We’re leaving Merry,” said Pippin.

“Whoo-yay, life’s-great-and-the-sun-is-shining. Race-you-to-the-top-of-the-hill!” And with that, he sprinted off.

“But Merry, your horse is back here.”

“I feel like running!” he called over his shoulder, before thumping into a tree-trunk.

Aragorn snagged him by the collar on the way past and lifted him into a saddle. “I am a ranger, so I will guide us through the wilderness paths to Kyryalya,” he said, feeling the need to re-establish the plotline.

“Which way first, my brother-in-arms?” asked Boromir enthusiastically.

“Left!” Aragorn cried, before spurring his horse onward.

Arwen and Galadriel shared a look of mutual exasperation.

(&)

“We can’t go on like this,” said Boromir. “We had enough trouble just stopping him leaping from horse to horse!”

“Galadriel said the spell would wear off eventually,” said Gandalf. “Until then, we just have to stop Merry from doing anything stupid.”

Everyone game him ‘The Look’.

“Anything disastrously stupid,” he amended.

Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarseregedhelthalion made a retort so bitingly witty that we can’t even write it.

“Why did I have to be stuck with him?” asked Boromir.

“Because you killed me!” Merry said brightly, ceasing his bouncing in the saddle long enough to give Boromir a big hug.

Boromir groaned as he detached the hobbit from around him and swung down from his horse. “I’m sure he was fidgeting with something behind my back,” he said, turning to find a good place to put the lunchtime cooking fire and revealing an intricate arrangement of plaits and interwoven tree-flowers.

Lunch consisted of roast pork a la Vendee in an apple and garlic jus, stuffed with chestnuts and quail’s eggs – IN PIPPIN’S DREAMS. They ate a weak gruel cooked by Aragorn, seasoned with leaves that he had grabbed from some bush in the hope that they might be athelas. Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarseregedhelthalion decided not to eat the gruel.

They all lay back and relaxed for a while. Frodo went off to violently empty his stomach.

To calm Merry down, Sam engaged him in conversation. To everyone’s relief, this seemed to work, until suddenly he leapt up and ran off.

“Come back, Merry!” Sam shouted after him. “When I said I fancied oysters, I didn’t mean you should go off to get some!”

Oysters? thought Pippin. He said he fancied oysters. This must mean he was secretly hoping someone might give him pearls.

Everybody ran in pursuit of Merry, who was already nearly out of sight. Everybody, that is, except Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarseregedhelthalion, who felt a bird call to be more worthy of his attention.

Merry, of course, ran straight into the waiting arms of some orcs (literally). They ignored his questions as to where the nearest oyster-bearing pond was. Frodo witnessed this but, because he had a bone of sense in his body, he remained hidden and only left to alert the others when he was sure he would not be spotted.

By this time, the Fellowship had split into their usual groups of one, to make their reunification as unlikely as possible. It was with complete disinterest that Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarseregedhelthalion watched them trail back into the camp over the course of the afternoon. As, one by one, they came into the camp, Frodo recounted the ‘unfortunate’ event that he had witnessed. Some were in favour of a daring rescue mission against almost insurmountable odds, but Boromir was soon shouted down, and they decided first to find their remaining lost companions, Sam and Pippin.

(&)

Being unable to find Merry, Pippin had deduced that he was playing Hide-and-Seek, and it was Pippin’s turn to hide. He had decided to hide inside a hollow log, when he heard Frodo call out.

Frodo is calling out, thought Pippin. That’s not a very good way to hide. Maybe he’s using our Hide-and-Seek game as an opportunity to liaise with someone.

“Sam,” shouted Frodo in a worried voice. “Where are you, Samwise Gamgee?”

All is not as it seems here. Hold on a minute! ‘Samwise’ has some of the same letters as ‘Merry’, which means he must be calling for me, Pippin. Pippin came to what seemed the only possible conclusion. Frodo and Sam are having an affair and they don’t want me to run in on them and get jealous.

Frodo moved on, still calling out. A while later he returned, this time being chased by a horde of orcs.

That looks like a horde of orcs, observed Pippin from his hiding place, scraping hundreds of ants from his legs whose home he had disturbed. They must be local rangers dressed up in orc costumes, going to a fancy dress party. He rushed out into the path of the orcs. “Hey, I like parties. Do you mind if I come along?”

Not only did they not mind, they rather insisted. They even gave him a fancy dress costume, as a prisoner.

(&)

Frodo and Sam sprinted back to the camp, musing on the stupidity of their fellow hobbits. “Of course, they were the only ones captured,” shouted Sam.

“Thank the Valar for comic relief double acts,” replied Frodo.

End of Chapter 7.

That was great, Mercury, keep up the good work! I love this spoof, it gets better and better. *anticipates the next chapter*

Heh, I thought it was something like that ^_^

*thumbs up *

:grin:

Thank you guys for you praise. It makes me happy :D BTW the next chapter will be abit longer in getting here as we haven't actually writen it yet.

A/N (JB): We’re changing the setting for this one, mostly because we had a few great ideas and wanted to abuse them. If it throws you a bit, don’t worry, as we’ll be back to the Fellowship again immediately afterwards. We also seem to have a rather better idea of where we’re going over the next half-dozen chapters, which is a nice change. Back at the start, we didn’t know where we’d be by the end of the chapter, let alone after that.
Also, here’s a bit of homework from me: who do you think was the victim of the poisoning? And who was the perpetrator? And, most importantly, why?...

Disclaimer: Rights are slippery things. You never know when a holder might suffer a terrible accident, like being shot in the middle of the night by a mysterious masked fanfic writer…

Chapter 8: The Organisation

*Cue fanfare of The Stormtroopers’ March*
In a darkened room, the highest room in the tallest tower of Dol Guldur, he stood. He had deathly pale skin, and wore dark robes covered in evil symbols, also in black, which made them rather difficult to see. He leaned (carefully) on a black spiked chair, huffing and puffing from the many stairs he had just climbed. He wondered briefly if it would have been easier to take the elevator, but was distracted by a noise from the shadows. It sounded like whatever noise it is that an armadillo makes.
“Ah, my pretty,” he said. “Heel!” The armadillo, for such it was, scuttled out and sat obediently beside him. “Are you as eager as I am, my familiar?”
The armadillo considered whether it should be a talking armadillo, but decided that would be just too silly. The Dark Lord frowned, for he had always wanted a talking familiar. He carefully sat down in the spiked black chair, which faced away from the round table, and spoke in a deep, sonorous voice.
“I call all my dark brothers of The Organisation, to plot evil deeds,” he called in a dark, long forgotten language with too many consonants and not enough vowels (which you can understand because of the subtitles). “Come to me, your Dark Lord.”
From the shadows stepped figures, also robed in black. There was a small scuffle as two people accidentally picked the same shadow, but this did not disturb the overall mood. Silently, they moved forward and sat down at the table.
Finally, when most of the places were filled, one of the assembled spoke. “Typical, that *******’s late again.”
The Dark Lord’s chair rotated slowly until he was facing the other black figures. “Firstly, for the record, I was not late that time; I was trying to make a dramatic entrance. Secondly…”
“Oh ******,” said the offending figure as he disappeared in a ball of flame.
The Dark Lord came to his feet, and raised his black-cloaked arms. The shadows grew deeper, and a chill swept through the room. “I call this meeting of The Organisation to order. Over three thousand years it is since last we met. We shall begin by going over the minutes from the last meeting.”
One of the black figures stood up. “Since our Dark Secretary was killed in that unfortunate event at our last meeting, I took the liberty of collecting her notes.”
“You use your initiative well, Grostin. I predict that you will go far in our order.”
“But my name’s Billy.”
“Silence! You are Grostin now, and you shall be our new Dark Secretary. Begin!”
“*Ahem* Our last meeting began with the minutes from the previous meeting.”
“No s**t, Sherlock!” heckled one dark figure.
“These are the worst minutes I’ve ever heard!” said another, warming up.
“Hurry up, my colleagues think I’m on a cigarette break,” said one man, a tie poking out from under his robes.
“Mine think I’m on the toilet.”
“Nobody will miss me,” said a woman, taking off her McDonald’s cap.
The new Dark Secretary shouted them down. “The minutes were received with no comments, and so we moved to our plans for the domination of Middle Earth. Several of our number were assigned to continue the raids on Gondor and Rohan. Furthermore, the funds obtained from the pillaging went towards the rent paid to Lord Sauron for this meeting room.”
“Not a problem any more,” sniggered someone.
“I still think we should have gone for the yellow room,” said someone else.
“Prince Argen, our Dark Social Secretary, put forward the motion that he should become the leader of The Organisation, but this was immediately vetoed by our chairman. When the proposer refused to stand down, he was forcibly removed from this chamber, this Organisation and this world.
“When the smoke had cleared, we moved on to discussing the annihilation of the elven race. Little progress was reported, but several members volunteered to step up assassinations and murders. At this point, Gil-Galad entered the meeting with his elven army. He put forward the motion that we dissolve the meeting and face the wall with our hands in the air. This seemed unpopular, but there were widespread abstentions, and so the meeting was brought to a close.” Finishing, the secretary sat down.
The deep, chilling voice spoke again. “I am glad to see so many of our brotherhood escaped from our last meeting.” The armadillo leapt onto the table and settled in front of the Dark Lord, who stroked it absently. “The elves are great hunters, but they are ultimately weak and will fall before us in time.”
“Hang on a minute, can armadillos actually leap?” questioned a perceptive member. “If it’s not suicidal of me to ask,” he added.
“It is,” replied the Dark Lord, fire shooting from his fingertips. “Now, since we’re starting again after a long period out of action, I think we should aim as high as possible. Best foot/hoof/claw forward, and all that. Any objections?”
“Er, I’m not sure if that’s the best strategy…”
“Shut up.” *FLAME* “I have heard reports of a high-profile poisoning. I do hope that one of you lads was responsible.” There were non-committal mutterings of “I don’t like to brag,” and “I’m busy on Tuesdays.”
Binndijk, Winged Demon of the North, spoke up. “Some of my orcish scouts have reported the capture of a couple of hobbits.”
The chairman was unimpressed. “Fantastic, maybe we can ransom them home for some cabbages!”
The demon cringed, covering his horned head with his wings, and blurted out “They’re from the Fellowship!”
“Ah now, that is a completely different matter. Well done, O Black-Hearted King of the Frozen North. You are promoted to Dark Second-In-Command.”
“Yatta!” said the demon lord, doing his trademark victory dance.
“Now we must prepare for the arrival of these hobbits,” continued the as-of-yet unnamed Lord of Evil. “The Fellowship are bound to launch a rescue mission, and we must have some insurmountable odds for them to face. Grzebinoga and Zamoliskl, I delegate this task to you. Do not fail me!” he said, warming up his fingers. Little did he know that this was a fanfic, and all his plans were doomed from the outset. He took a moment to gloat. “I look forward to having the greatest heroes of the Fourth Age at my mercy.”
“Like that’s gonna happen,” muttered a voice in the crowd.
“Don’t make me use the flames!”
The Organization’s token woman stood up. “With your permission, I would like to gather my band of sexy feminist warriors to menace the lands around Laketown.”
“Ah yes, by all means. For that matter, take someone else with you. He’ll do,” he pointed to a random figure clad in black. “You will go and set something up to the east of Mirkwood. That area is never mentioned in the book, and I want to know what’s there.”
“But milord, I think it’s just grassland.”
“Then think of something evil involving grass,” he said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “How are our operations in Gondor?”
“Steady, O Dark One. Several of our projects were thriving for a while, but suddenly Lord Faramir’s competence sharply increased. We are currently regrouping. We are looking into ways of remedying this situation, but most of these involve the death of Faramir.”
“Forget about any plans that don’t. Now we shall bring this meeting to a close.”
They chanted a few dark rites, and ended on The Organisation theme song. Those who had forgotten their hymn sheets had to share. Beings began preparing to leave, tightening their sword belts and packing their briefcases.
A particularly bold spirit approached the Dark Lord. “Master, may I speak?”
“Yes, Shadow-Demon.”
“I was just thinking that we don’t really get much done in these meetings. Maybe that’s why we haven’t taken over Middle Earth yet.”
“Shut up.” *FIREBALL*
One of the newest members of The Organisation stepped forward. “Your Evil Lordship, do you think it’s wise to kill off half the council at every meeting?”
He stood up, his familiar leaping athletically off and scuttling away to stand by the door. The Dark Lord raised his hand … and placed it on the youth’s shoulder, giving a laugh that was hearty and yet still pretty evil. “I like you, young man. You remind me of when I was young. I like that you speak your mind. You will be my new Dark Second-In-Command. Binndijk, you will now be the Dark Webmaster. See that we have an impressive website.”
As everyone was leaving, Binndijk was muttering bad-temperedly under his breath. As he waited for the elevator to come back up, he glanced at the smug familiar. “What’s an armadillo doing in Middle Earth anyway?”
“Shut up,” said the armadillo.
End of Chapter 8.

Ooh, nice, Mercury! :) And that Dark Lord guy was some Saruman-like [insert some not yet named race here], I'm guessing?
The victim of the poisoning was either a character not yet mentioned, or a character that's already been mentioned obscurely somewhere *grins* Apart from that, I don't really know. *tries to remember a character that might have disappeared suspiciously from the scene* Er... one of the Valar, Elrond, Gimli (not sure where he last appeared. Maybe I should check back), Celeborn, a Hobbit, Legolas (even though he doesn't really fit the 'profile'), and that's all I can think of from the top of my already very muddled head (I've been revising for school)
Perpetrator- A uruk-hai or an orc? The Dark Lord? (Whichever way you would like to take that) Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond? (I have a thing for picking on Elrond *grins cheesily*)
Now, last but not least, the reason... I have no idea. The victim stole something, jealousy, no logical reason, or an evil plot involving what you'd call 'greater forces'?

I like this parody!

They're not bad guesses Atheniel, not bad at all. But it wouldn't be any fun if I told you who was poisoned. But the dark lord isn't a maiar like Suaron.....I think.

Unfotrtunately it won't let me copy and paste any more and it won't let me attach it file to it....any one know what's the problem?

Awesome parody.. Haha... Talking armadillo.. brilliant I'm not going to take any guesses.. or maybe I will a little later!


What is it you are trying to copy and paste?

Have you tried when opening a reply using the Edit button on the top menu of the page??

For adding a file it has to be on a website already so you put a link on here and we can read it. I don't think you can do a direct link from your own folder at home to this site.
Maybe you could use another site, to upload the file and then put the link to that on here... hmmm thats a tad confusing and it may take awhile to download it too! Other wise i'm not too sure at the moment. PM me or atheniel and we can try our best to help you more! Okay? :)




I was going to ask is the Dark Lord - Saruman.. hmm, its not Melkor/Morgoth or some one like that is it?? Seeing as you've made one reference to The Silmarillion.

I really can't work out who may have been poisoned or anything... my brain has stopped working! haha.. I've been too busy concentrating at school!!

After thinking on it I@ve decided that just putting a link to ff.net will be easiest. So here's chapter 9: *fingers crossed*

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2028262/9/

Fanfiction.net takes a while to load :oddlook: It might be because of all the text, I don't know. It just doesn't seem to have come out yet, or it just might be my computer playing up.
Anyhow, I don't really know why you can't copy and paste. I do it for my RP posts onto here all the time. It's probably ff.net that's not letting you copy and paste, I'm guessing, to prevent people from plagiarising people's fiction or something. If that's the case the best option would be to copy straight from your Word document/ Word processor where you have your fic (since if I remember correctly, you upload your fiction that's already on Word onto ff.net), at least, that's what I would do :)
It's still loading...

I think it may be your computer, because it only took a few seconds for it to load on my computer. Hmm, I'll have to read it another time, I've not got long on the computer today. It looks interesting! ^_^

That's what I did, straight from word. I'll give it another shot, but I doubt it will work. :galadrielangry:

:hug: A/N: Oh, yipee, I found a way of pasting it in. Just one little warning for this chapter; BRACE YOURSELVES! It’s not so bad after you get past the first section.
(JB): There are some bits in it that we’ve been looking forward to for quite a while, though.

Disclaimer: I own the rights to Lord of the Rings..... does it count if I write them myself?

Chapter 9: Of Gary Stues and Incompetent Lackeys

“We must go and rescue the hobbits,” said the beautiful-faced Legolas, his rare golden hair shining in the sun. “They are such gentle, peaceful folk, and so loyal. It would break my heart if we were not able to find them safe and well.”
“Ah, good Legolas, you speak for all of us, as if you were using your Elven telepathy. However, you are too humble to do such a thing. You have always been the most emotional and sensitive of all of us. Indeed, it is possibly your only flaw, if you could call it such. It is what has made you the most loved elf in Mirkwood, ever since you were a child,” Aragorn praised, stroking his strong manly chin.
“Oh Aragorn, my most trusted companion, you speak too highly of me and yet say nothing of your kingly stature, your many skills and your unsurpassed courage.”
“I fear that this is one of the few occasions when I must correct you, Legolas. My courage pales in comparison to Frodo’s, who travelled unaided into the depths of Mordor to destroy the One Ring.”
“I do not deserve such high praise,” protested Frodo, his exquisite blue eyes glistening with moisture at this beautiful tribute. “I would have failed without the support and friendship of my good Sam Gamgee: the most reliable and steady hobbit who ever lived.”
Sam blushed. “Oh, I merely helped out when I was needed. My sacrifice was nothing to that of Boromir, who gave his life in an attempt to gain the freedom of his hobbit friends.”
“Fat lot of good that did,” muttered Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion, entering the chapter.
Sam appeared not to have heard. “Such bravery and loyalty are a mark of a true Gondorian hero.”
“Sadly, my resolve has always been weak,” said Boromir, his mind casting back to his shameful pursuit of the One Ring. “But how fortunate, then, that I have the example of Gimli, who once resolved not to kill Legolas. They are now the best of friends, a friendship so strong it crosses the boundaries of species and culture, so strong that they are almost like brothers. Their friendship is only comparable to that of Aragorn and Legolas. How wonderful it is to see a companionship that has flourished from their earliest childhood together. A friendship that has strengthened through great trials and vast timeline inconstencies. A bond so strong that it is almost ... homosexual.”
The neo-Fellowship was silent as they decided how best to respond to this. Boromir quickly moved on: “And what of Gaurbrith?”
Gaurbrith smiled expectantly.
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion smirked. “What of him?”
There was silence again.
“And what of Gandalf? Ever wise and possessed of great magical powers. With such a leader, truly we can not fail.”
“Ah, but it was I who fell to a mere Balrog; my weakness is all too evident to me. We would have faired better in the mines of Moria had Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion been there with us. His skill with the blade and his cool wit would have saved us. His tactical knowledge and intuition are known throughout Middle Earth.”
“Damn right,” replied Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion, “and don’t you forget it.”
“Look there!” cried Aragorn running across the clearing. “Uruk-Hai tracks. There were between 38 and 40 of them, including two with slight limps and one with a wooden leg. These two were carrying burdens, hobbit-shaped by the look of it.” He scrambled in the grass, searching for clues. “Look at this hair. This smooth brown hair is characteristic of the Took family and this thread is the exact colour of the jacket that Merry was wearing.” Aragorn gasped; “Could this be the band of Uruk-Hai that kidnapped our friends?”
“There’s no doubt about it,” said Gimli. “My spidey-sense is tingling.”
“We must follow the path that the deer tell us. I have convinced them to help us using the Speech of Animals, taught to me by my good friend Radegast the Brown.” The strength of leadership sang out from Gandalf’s decisive voice.
Legolas stepped forward. “I and my Silvan kin are greatly in tune with the forces of nature. However, I have been gifted with a special insight. I too can talk to animals.”
“Same goes for me and Sam,” said Frodo. “Us country folk can all understand the beasts of field and forest.”
“Is anyone else starting to feel sick?” asked Gaurbrith, clutching his stomach.

(&)

Exactly 39 Uruk-Hai plus two hobbits walked into the courtyard of Dol Guldur. Zamoliskl of The Organisation was there to meet them.
“Welcome to Dol Guldur,” he said.
“Gul Guldor?” asked a confused Pippin.
“Dol Guldur” Zamoliskl corrected with irritation.
“Dul Dooldor?”
“Dol Guldur!”
“Gul Duldor?”
“Dol Guldur!!!”
“Ooooooh… Gul Dulgure!”
Zamoliskl gave up. “I am Grand champion Zamoliskl.”
“Zammawisky?”
“That’s Grand Champion Zammawisky to you!” bellowed an orc, drawing his sword.
“SHUT UP!” Zamoliskl said to both of them. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “I hope you have a ... pleasant stay in our dungeons.”
“Do we get bed-and-breakfast?” asked Pippin hopefully.
“No you don’t!” snapped Zamoliskl, who felt like he was losing control of the situation.
“Oh, that guy told us we’d get bed-and-breakfast.”
“No, that was Isengard, understand!?” said an orc, a veteran from the War of the Ring.*
“Oh yeah, sorry, one evil fortress looks just like another to me.”
Zamoliskl decided to try a gloat. “You will never escape; we are prepared for you friends’ arrival. They will be cut down, like lambs in a slaughter-house,” he laughed maniacally, feeling much better. He had always liked gloating and felt it to be one of the few perks of the job.
“Are you my mummy?” asked Merry.
“Shut up, and take off that stupid mask,” said Zamoliskl. He turned to the orcs. “Take them to the dungeon; I grow tired of their foolishness.”
The hobbits were marched down the stairs to the awaiting dungeon.

(&)

The Fellowship moved through the woods, following the trial of the orcs. Sam started to whistle, a strong yet gentle sound, full of melody and emotion. It was a tune he had made up on the spot. Soon Frodo was clapping along, a complicated rhythm in perfect harmony. Boromir hummed a counter-point and Legolas improvised some words to go along. Aragorn produced a lute from his pocket (it was a very small lute). Aragorn always carried his lute with him, for one never knew when inspiration might strike. With voices and instruments the Fellowship rose in harmony, putting together a symphony that would honour the nobles of any royal court.
Gaurbrith tried to join in, but found he was about as musical as a dead orc. Frodo patted him on the back in sympathy while never breaking his prefect rhythm. Gaurbrith wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming a percussion instrument.
“Silence!” said Legolas, tilting her head to the side to aid his superior Elvish hearing. The Fellowship immediately hushed, waiting for his important words.
“The trees tell me that the orcs approach Dol Guldur. We must traverse the 20 miles in 30 minutes or we may lose them forever.”
“We must make haste,” said Aragorn, “but first I must find some Athelas.”
“Legolas and I shall accompany you,” said Gimli.
They moved through the forest with great silence and stealth, so that the animals did not even notice their passing. Not that they would have been disturbed, for the calming presence of Legolas was upon them.
Then from afar they heard the sound of harsh orchish voices. Aragorn lifted his finger to his lips, unnecessarily indicating even more silence. Gimli moved forward with the grace that had made him famous among his dwarf-kin. Seeing two orcs, they quickly disguised themselves. Gimli stood still as a rock, while Legolas nestled among the branches of a tree and Aragorn perfectly imitated the movements and sounds of a wild boar.
As they watched, one of the orcs pulled out of his pocket a batch of leaflets. With their keen far-sight, Aragorn and Legolas could read the title:
“HOW BEST TO DESTROY MY MASTER’S PLANS”
“We’re giving out these leaflets to all incompetent lackeys,” said one orc to the other. “It gives lots of helpful advice on revealing plans, letting prisoners escape and so forth.”
“So now I might say ta ya that the ’obbits ’ave been taken to Dol Guldur and that a trap ’as bin set for the Fellowship.”
“That’s quite right, you might also add that if they were to enter by the front gate, they would be trapped in the courtyard and slaughtered by overwhelming numbers.”
“But if they were ta take the unguarded tunnel,” continued the second orc, “ta the EAST of the tower, they could ge’ in wivout any trouble.”
“You’re very good at this, it’s a pity there aren’t any Gary-Stued heroes around to overhear us.”
“I ain’t sure about this. Where can I get more info?”
“Why, we have a booth just over there.” He pointed to a nearby neon sign which read:
‘Incompetent Villain’s Information Point’
Underneath which was a female orc, wearing a hideous blonde wig and bright red lipstick. Gimli broke his stone-like stillness to shudder.
As the two evil creatures walked away, the novice remarked “Yah well spoken fer an orc.”
“Really? Good for you to say old chap. I suppose it would be because I was brought up in the suburbs of Mordor. You know how Middle-Class those areas are.”
Once they had left, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn made their way back to their companions, to plot a daring and dramatic rescue.

(&)

“So,” said Pippin, “we appear to be locked in a dungeon.
“Indeed we do,” replied Merry, “and to be honest, I’ve been in better cells.”
“We need to get out of here soon Merry, I’m starting to get hungry.”
“I’ve got more urgent problems,” added Pippin. “I really need the *ahem*”
“Clear your throat?”
“No, I mean AHEM!”
“Oh, I get it.” Pippin winked. “Coughing.”
“No, I mean that … Oh forget it! Where’s the toilet?”
“In that bucket over there.”

(&)

“Which direction is Dol Guldur?” Gandalf asked of the expert trackers.
“The ground tells me to go South-East,” said Aragorn, standing up.
“The stars tell me to go North-East,” said Legolas, shielding his eyes from the moonlight with one hand and pointing with the other.
Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion made a suggestion; “Perhaps we should follow this well-used road which leads to that dark, forbidding tower over there,” he said, leaning against a sign which said:
WELCOME TO THE REGION OF DOL GULDUR

Twinned with Barad-dur and Billericay

They soon came to a consensus.
“We can’t be too far away,” said Boromir, “those 300 orcs we just slew wouldn’t have strayed too far from the tower.

(£)

“We need to find a way out of here. We can’t count on the others,” said Pippin.
“Well we could,” replied Merry, “but it is not right for us to put our friends in any more danger.”
“The way I see it, we have two options; we can wait till they bring us dinner, over-power them, take their weapons and make a run for it, or we can work away at the door and escape by stealth.”
“Or we could go out the window.”
“What?”
“It’s a standard solution. There’s always a third solution and it’s usually ‘out the window’.”
“Ok, what about an awkward encounter with an ex-girlfriend?”
“Out the window.”
“A spillage of hazardous chemicals?”
“Out the window.”
“The War in Iraq?”
“Out the window.”
Pippin sighed. “There’s just one problem with that plan Merry: we’re underground, so there is no window.”
“There’s no way out! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!” yelled Merry.
Pippin moved to comfort him. “There is one way we can escape, Merry. There’s something I haven’t told you, something I’ve been keeping a secret.” His pupils started to glow red. “I have LASER EYES!”
The beams burst forth and incinerated the lock. The door swung open. Luckily for them, the guards were in the library reading an interesting leaflet they had been given and had dropped the master key in front of the door.
The glow subsided and Pippin gestured to Merry. “Quick, let’s get out of here.”
Picking up the master key, Merry lead them out of the tower using his prefect memory and sense of direction.

(&)

Boromir effortlessly lifted the one-ton trap door and they all jumped down gracefully though the door. Gimli hit the butt of his axe into the ground and listened carefully to the echoes.
“Mmmm, these passages extend far underneath the ground. We must be in the dungeons. I think that perhaps it would be best if we split up and search for our companion’s cell.”
Frodo spoke up, his eyes shinning with innocent bravery. “I’ll take Sam and Gaurbrith and go this way. The rest of you go that way.”
“I’m not entirely comfortable with this,” said Gaurbrith.
“I am,” said Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion. “I’m on the good team.”
“But what happens if we get attacked?”
“I have faith in Frodo and Sam’s ability to fight off any enemy,” said Aragorn, lifting his pack and strolling off down the hallway. As they parted ways, Sam led Gaurbrith down the corridor.
As they moved through the darkened hallway, they listened at every door to try and identify what was within. Aragorn held his ear to a keyhole.
“Behind this door I hear 3 orcs, all in their mid-30s and all wearing thick leather amour,” he whispered. “There is a chest-of-drawers in one corner, containing 14 napkins and 2 tablecloths. There is also a spider in the top drawer.” Only Aragorn could make such a supreme deduction merely from the sounds leaking through the door.
They moved on and soon came to a dead-end, only holding two doors on either side of the path.
“The vibrations in the rocks tell me that left is the true path, but we should try both doors, in case I’m wrong.”
“You only wrong yourself, mellon, when you doubt your abilities. Your affinity with all rocks is legendary, even among dwarf-kind. Still, we shall put your worries to rest.”
Boromir opened the right-hand door.
“Duff Man cameo. Oh Yeah!”
Boromir closed the door.
“What was that?” asked Lord Kanolhachkirraukoturgilarsergedhelthalion.
“Just a Duff Man cameo. Shall we try the other door?”

(£)

With characteristic sharpness, Frodo, Sam and Gaurbrith (well, except Gaurbrith) spotted a shadow approaching a fork in their path. They ran down a deserted hallway and settled into the shadows, just in time to avoid being spotted by two orcs. The orcs stopped in the crossroad.
“What are these breadcrumbs doin’ ’ere?” growled one orc. “They seem to form a trail.”
“It’s those bloody cleaners again,” replied the second orc. “They all ’ave ’oles in their bin bags. I keep tellin’ ’em not ter pick ’em up with their swords.”
“Can’t get the staff these days. Should we clean up the trail of crumbs?”
The second orc snorted. “We’re incompetent lackeys, not subservient dogsbodies. We’ll leave it to ... someone else.”
As they walked off, the first orc said “It’s odd, but it almost looks as if someone’s left the trail deliberately.”
As soon as they were out of range, Frodo and Sam leapt out of the shadows.
“Perhaps we should follow and dispatch those orcs with deft swordsmanship,” said Frodo.