A/N: PLEASE NOTE!!!!!! I did not write this story... this was written by my dad's friend back when they were like teenagers, because they were both obsessed with LotR. Hope you guys like it!!!!
Insert the following after "'small hands do them because they must, while
the eyes of the great are elsewhere.'" [page 283, line 9 of the Red Book
--------------------------
Suddenly a voice spoke up from within the silence of Elrond's conference
room.
"Hoy! Ye all'r nutt'n but a flock of hooey heads!"
All the dignitaries of the free peoples of Middle Earth, including Elrond
the Halfelven, Gandalf the Grey, and Aragorn son of Arathorn, looked angrily
to the corner of the room where the skinny shell of an elf sat lounging in a
folding chair. And lo! It was Gavinioral, the only Scottish Elf in Middle
Earth.
"Who invited you?" accused Gandalf.
"Shut yer bonny mouth and hear what've ta say, ya grey, overstuffed haggis!"
Gasps echoed throughout the room as all present were astonished at the
newcomers tone with the revered wizard. Frodo and his friends looked wildly
at each other, their mouths open wide in horror.
The scrawny Gavinioral got out of his chair and meandered around the room,
his hands in the back pockets of his tunic.
"Here's the way I see it, laddies," he began. "Ya got yerself a few many
problems, wit many possible answers. While ya toss and turn and toss and
turn, the only right answer is right in fron' of yer bloody eyes."
"My dear friend," began Elrond, but was silenced as Gavinioral pointed an
accusing finger at the lord of Rivendell.
"An you! You lorldy, lazy, pompous piece of shortbread! If yer actions were
a third what yer words was, old Sauronhead would have been crying to his
mama by now." Gavinioral walked right up to Elrond, and mirrored his face to
the halfelven, such that the tips of their noses met as if they were
involved in a tender eskimo kiss. "Why, yer nutt'n but the king of the
hooeyheads, sitt'n here in yer blissful little shack, half neckid elfmaidens
dancing around yer fancy throne, skinny little womenlike men makin' up
pretty poems. If'n you had naught but air between yer pointy ears, or the
guts to move yer halfelven arse out from behin' yer precious brothal, none
of this would have ever happened."
"Don't blame me," begged the lord of Rivendell. "It's all Isuldur's fault.
He wouldn't listen to me. I told him to destroy the cursed work of Sauron. I
told him to. But did he listen? Noooo! He just went on his own way without
so much as an 'If you please!' Alas! Would that I had never been born!"
"Shut yer whinin' mouth, ya half breed bugger!" shouted Gavinioral. That's
been yer problem all these buggin' centuries. Always blamin' someone else.
Never takin' no responsibility on your own."
At that, Elrond the halfelven burst into tears and left the room. This was
followed by a tense silence, and then Glorfindel stood up angrily.
"Now see what you've done?" he asked. "You've ruined everything!" Then he
stomped out of the room after his king.
As if the ridicule of Elrond wasn't enough to offend the gathering,
Gavinioral proceeded to sit right in the elvenking's chair!
Gandalf the Grey stood up in a challenge. "You.. you.. you.. mean thing
you!" He rushed at Gavinioral, with Glamdring, his mighty sword, poised for
attack. Gavinioral sat nonchalantly, picking his teeth, until the last
possible moment. As the wizard was upon him, he dodged out of the way and
opened a secret trap door that he had installed only that morning. A sign on
the door read "T' th' Balrog," which is Scottish-Elf for "To the Balrog."
Gandalf fell through the trap door and vanished forever, at least until many
months later, where he reappeared somewhere in Fangorn, raving like a
lunatic, claiming that the filthy dirty cloak he wore was really white.
Now the entire company was stunned. Gavinioral had their total respect now,
after so effectively dismissing the lord of Rivendell and the most powerful
wizard in Middle Earth.
"What would you have us do, oh mighty one?" asked Aragorn.
"I'm so glad ya ask'd, ya stinky excuse fer a ranger," said Gavinioral
sarcastically.
Aragorn twitched for a minute, as he pondered mounting his own attack on the
Scottish-elf. Then he decided he didn't want to end up like Gandalf, and he
buckled his sword back in.
"Now," Gavinioral was saying, "it's not that bloody difficult. You've been
listening to a flock of haggisheads telling ya' ta try to travel, by foot,
for goodness sake, to Mordor to drop the ring in the crack o' doom. I say,
why walk when you can fly?"
Gasps sounded throughout the room, and Frodo said, "I'm sure I don't know
what you are talking about. None of us can fly, we're only human or
human-types. Everyone knows that only birds can fly. Don't they, guys?" He
looked around the room for support, but got none. Everyone was still looking
at that trap door.
"Sit yer tiny arse down, ya mole person. If'n ya didn't have the ring, I'd
kick yer miniature arse all th' way back to Hobbiton."
Frodo sat down quickly.
"I didn' mean that we'd fly, ya stupid midget. Watch, and learn."
Gavinioral gave a shrill whistle, and lo!, Gwaihirr the windlord, king of
the eagles, flew into the window and landed on the table.
"Okay, up we go. You, you, you, you, you, you, you, and you!" He pointed at
Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry.
And at about ten in the morning, it came to pass that "The nine flyers" rose
up into the air and flew south toward Mordor on Gwaihirr the Windlord. But
lo! the load was much, and somewhere over the Falls of Rauros, Gwaihirr
tired.
"You guys are too heavy! I've been flying for five hours without a rest,"
shouted the eagle over his shoulders.
"Quit yer whinin' and fly, ya bird brain," came the tart reply from
Gavinioral.
"I'm serious," said Gwaihirr. "If we don't drop some weight, I'm going to
have to land."
Gavinioral sighed. "Okay, okay. Everyone pick a number between one and ten."
"Five," said Aragorn.
"Two," cried Frodo.
"One," offered Sam.
"Six," bellered Gimli.
"Nine," yelled Legolas.
"Eight," hollered Boromir.
"Three," squeaked Pippin.
"Seven," screamed Merry.
"Good," said Gavinioral. "The number is s--"
"Hey," interrupted Boromir. "What about you? Aren't you going to pick a
number too?"
"Shut up, ya fat horn blowin' haggis! Fine, I pick Ten. What I was sayin'
is, the number is eight." With that, Gavinioral picked up the hefty Boromir
and pitched him over the side.
"How's that?" the Scottish-elf asked the eagle.
"Much better, thank you."
And so it came to pass that Boromir, champion of Gondor, fell to his death
just this side of the Falls of Rauros. He landed in an abandoned elven boat,
and floated away down the mighty Anduin River, never to be seen again until
his stark raving mad father saw him and then had a nervous breakdown.
Then, about three-fifteen, as the eagle soared high over Mt. Doom,
Gavinioral turned to address Frodo. "Okay, shorty. As we circle around,
throw the bugger in."
Frodo looked down as if he were ashamed. "I have come, but I do not choose
now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"
With that, he put on the ring and vanished.
And so it came to pass that Gavinioral grappled with the invisible scaredy
cat hobbit, and bit off his ring finger.
Frodo appeared suddenly, and looked down in horror to where his missing
digit should have been. Then, tears in his eyes, he turned to Sam. "Do you
see what he did? He bit off my finger!"
"Well, as me old gaffer used to say," said the fat hobbit, "'tis better to
be missing a finger than to be missing a head."
At that, the entire group burst into spontaneous laughter. Aragorn slapped
Sam on the back, nearly knocking him off Gwaihirr the Windlord.
A quick shout came forth from Gavinioral. "Pipe down, ya greasy haggis's,
can't ya see I'm trying to aim?"
And so it came to pass that as Gwaihirr the Windlord circled back for
another pass over Mt. Doom, that Gavinioral, Last of the Scottish-elves,
gave the One Ring a deft flip. The golden talisman fell in a perfect
parabolic arc toward the mountain of fire, landing smack dab in the middle
of the lava.
The mountain shook, the earth shook, Mordor shook, everything shook. And it
came to pass that a dark cloud rose from Barad-Dur, screaming,
"Moooooommmmmmyyyyyyyy!!!!!" And lo! Sauron the Great was no more.
And it came to pass that the flyers returned from their mighty quest at
about nine that evening, making the entire trip in about twelve hours,
saving more than one year of time and countless wasted lives.
And it came to pass that the hobbits went back to their boring lives, and
Gimli and Legolas left for their homes best of friends, for they had spent
the entire journey telling jokes in the back seat of Gwaihirr the Windlord.
And it also came to pass also that Arwen Evenstar dumped Aragorn, to whom
she was betrothed, for Gavinioral the Great. "Why should I give up my
eternal life for some greaseball?" she was overheard to say.
THE END