Write Your Own LOTR - TTT - Book IV

[Primula]

"Well, somebody's going to have to go back over those hills and find us some dimes then," Frodo said. "He looked around. "Smeagol! I know you're here somewhere! Listen to Master! Smeagol! We need two dimes! Bring me some dimes!" He grinned at Sam. "Well, hey, with all that crawling he does he's bound to come across loose change from time to time isn't he?"

[Primula]

Frodo patted his pockets one more time, shrugged and walked past the toll booth, dropping two rocks into the box as he went. "Keep the change!" he said and set off at a run.

"Oh look, Sam, a sign for a Garden Show ahead!" he added as they panted on down the road. "At least I think that's what it says under the orc-scrawls, charcoal and dirt - if there's gardeners it can't be all bad, right? Unless they're orc gardeners, of course..."

[Ladyhawk Baggins]

"Gardens?" Sam could feel the pull of the stems, petals, leaves, deep rich soil, fruits, vegetables, flowers... home, everything good about home. He knew his Gaffer was known far and wide for his particular talents. Was it possible he was known even here? There was an odd flavor to his thoughts, not quite right, and yet so close... was that a slimy whisper he heard. He shook it away. "Off to the gardens it is, Mister Frodo."

[DoctorGamgee]

Meanwhile, inside the empty crown of the Witch King, lights and bells were going off.

"Drat!" Angmar cried, spilling his Shirley Temple and getting the little pink umbrella lodged in his faceless nose. "I hate when those idiot Easterlings go up the road and try to skip paying the toll!"

The Dark Lord, understanding that he could never force his subjects to follow the rules (after the 2nd age "Barad Dur Backup" proved that even two sheets was way too many for the orcs to count, so they were taking the paper off the wheel like it was going out of style...) had installed arcane sentinals on the cliffs of Cirith Ungol and the Toll gate on the western border to go off when anything unaccounted for passed. On those instances when this happened, the Witch King of Angmar got the message rather quickly...and force was sent to deal with the interlopers.

Sighing heavily and pulling the marischino cherry out of his robe, he sent the message to the rider on duty who was mounted on "Wings" the wingéd beast.

"That should get the toll, and a few more coins for another round of drinks!" he laughed.

[Primula]

Approaching what appeared to be a sort of Mordor municipal park, Frodo was pleased to find something resembling grass and assorted other greenery at last. Even if there was an awful lot of rubbish, bones and graffiti scattered about and someone had definitely spit in the water fountain, it was pleasant in its own way.

He started to sit at one of the picnic tables but its much-carven, vandalized, sticky state gave him second thoughts and he chose a nice fat clump of ferns instead.

"Ahhh. Look Sam, there's a swing-set, a tetherball and even a stream! Are any of these plants edible? Seeing plants again really puts me in the mood for a salad."

[Ladyhawk Baggins]

Sam eyed the "greens" dubiously. "Ain't that poison ivy, Mister Frodo?"

[Primula]

Frodo jerked his hand back from where he'd just been reaching for some and sighed. "Even the gardens around here are booby-trapped, aren't they? It just isn't fair." Flopping back on the ferns he stuck his sore feet out and, after a moment, promptly fell asleep.

[Ladyhawk Baggins]

Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Mister Frodo, we'll never make it to that Mountain of Doom if you keep fallin' asleep like that. Mightn't it be a sleepin' sickness of some sort? Or maybe a spell?" He shook Frodo so hard his pans rattled loudly.

[Primula]

Frodo's head abruptly bounced up and down as a pair of fat rabbits, terrified at the sound of the pans, shot out from underneath his ferny pillow.

One of them, a grey one with a fluffy white front, stopped on a nearby log and thumped on it loudly with his hind leg to sound a general alarm, causing a scatter of brightly-colored birds and an owl to fly off in fright. Next to Sam, a blue-eyed skunk popped out of a clump of daisies and ran for its life.

[Ladyhawk Baggins]

"Look, Mister Frodo! That skunk has eyes the same color as yours! I heard tale, back at the Green Dragon, a penguin has 'em, too." Sam made a lunge for the rabbits.

[Primula]

Frodo, who'd missed the skunk (literally, and thankfully) shook his head at Sam's country naivety. "Really Sam," he mumbled sleepily. "I doubt we've gone far enough South to ever see a penguin. I don't think I would want to anyway, the Elven rhyme made them sound quite fearsome.
Black as a crow, white as the snow,
Webs on my feet, Sharp is my beak,
Strong wings have I, they flap but don't fly,
With fish in my mouth, I waddle due South
um...something something... never fly in the air, no place in the sky.... something... I am the Penguin and I never lie.
Anyway, it didn't sound good to me. Though goodness knows we've seen enough wonders, maybe you'll see your penguin yet, Sam. Wake me up when lunch is ready." And with that, he fell deeply asleep.

[Ladyhawk Baggins]

Sam glanced back and noticed his master sleeping. What to do? His tummy rumbled. Food. Definitely food. He renewed his pursuit of the rabbits. "Not down the rabbit hole!"

[Harthad]

Beregond sat in his trailer, looking around at all the people walking/running/talking/screaming/skipping/picking their noses. Strange combination, to be sure. He might as well add something to the mix.

Beregond stood up, opened his mouth and started to sing. Those that weren't running away in terror stopped and stared, aghast.

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came! That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name! And do I dream again? For now I find, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."

At this point, everyone was gone.

". . .And though you turn from me, to glance behind! The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind."

[DoctorGamgee]

The Muse dusted off the tome, wondering how she had gotten sidetracked. How to inspire the writers to return to the job at hand and get the ball rolling again...

"Angmar Needs to move!" she moaned. "Treebeard has been a bit Entish too long, and the Uruk-Hai seem to have stopped along the way to buy souvenires at the tacky tourist shops! This will never do! A few nudges in the right direction should get us moving again."

[DoctorGamgee]

Angmar grumbled all the way to the stable. This was a horrible time for Wing's Wraith to come down with Motion Sickness. The fact that he was a wraith made the consumption of Dramamine all the harder, and with someone skipping out on the Toll Booth, it not only left Angmar in charge of finding the culprit, but also frustrated him because his least favorite Wingéd Beast was the only one on hand....

Pokey was the smallest of the Wingéd Beasts, though he was, ironically, the fastest. Angmar disliked him because he was forced to Gate-check his crown, and don the tea-length wraith-robe in order that his steed's (an overstatement if ever there was one!) oversized head upon the gangly neck could see. Angmar's knobby knees hadn't seen sunlight in centuries and glistened in the sun's setting light. He tucked them behind Pokey's short wings as he braced for takeoff.

As they shot out from the cliff and gained speed and altitude, Angmar's essence was pulled back, leaving his face looking like Joan Rivers on the way home from the Botox clinic. "Somebody's going to PAY for this!" he grumbled.