West of the Sea
A Novel by George L. Reed II
Not to diminish the greatness of Gandalf when it came to being a world-changing, time-altering, nasty Mordor-spawn slaying Wizard, but it turns out he was a really crappy Navigator. Cirdan, Celeborn, and Galadriel should have known better than to let him drive, and if Bilbo had been less of a cranky-pants or Frodo a few metric tons less angsty, things might have turned out more predictably. Didn't work out that way though, and there you have it.
The Elf Ship stood out just a tad in New York Harbor, grounded on the shoals of Staten Island, with the entire ship's compliment standing on the deck in bemused wonder. Imagine, if you will, their shock and surprise to be sailing through the typically misty Middle Earth ocean, only to slam to a halt (with all the lovely, attendant falling about each other and cracking of heads) on something that was not the golden sands of Aman.
"This is less than ideal, "mused Gandalf.
"Where the hell are we?" asked Celeborn.
"I think you broke the tiller," scolded Cirdan the Shipwright.
"I told you not to enter that purple mist, "chided Galadriel.
"I'm cold, "complained Bilbo to no one in particular—which as luck would have it was a good thing as no one ever listened to him anyway.
"I should have stayed in the Shire and taken up Sam and Rosie on that threesome idea, " whined Frodo, who had spent the last few weeks complaining about everything animal, vegetable, mineral, and/or weather.
"Shag a bloody Balrog, "Interrupted Glorfindel. "Will you *stop* going on about threesomes in the shire? I'll go through twenty yards of mental-floss to clear out the visual…That whole lot is really a bunch of rodents anyway."
"Word up, "added Galadriel, " I should have drowned rodent boy here in my fountain back in Loth Lorien. Frankly Gollum had better table manners."
A disgruntled and heavy sigh emanated from the gangway. "For the love of Rivendell, this place looks like a prison where hapless fools are destined to end their long days contemplating sad choices in bitter regret…" commented Elrond as he came up from below-decks.
"You *know* Elrond, "quipped Galadriel, "maybe you and Frodo should get a room. You seem to have a lot in common…."
"Oh, everyone, it seems we're out of Lembas, "grumbled Bilbo, "there was barely enough to fill out the corners this morning." Anyone noting Bilbo's pumpkin-like physique was probably underwhelmed by his dramatic pronouncement.
"How," wondered Glorfindel aloud, "can you eat so much and be so small?"
Bilbo considered the query thoughtfully for a moment and then sniggered, "Takes a lot of energy to bitch about everything—certainly more than it would to get up and do something constructive."
Galadriel looked at him coldly, "Then why not be productive?"
Smirking, Bilbo replied as he headed below, "Because, Little Miss Lorien, it would be giving up my career as a pain in the ass."
"Can we stop bickering?" inquired Gandalf, "We seem to have gathered some attention from the natives."
'Some attention,' it seemed, came in the form of a number of very fast, smallish ships speeding across the open water towards the stranded travelers. Had this lot of Middle Earth veterans been a tad more versed in the lore of the world they had blundered into, they'd be wondering why there were five coast-guard cutters with heavy guns speeding towards them. But they were *not* well educated in arcane matters such as the ship's armaments common to the US Coast Guard.
They would be soon, though….
"So who do you think these guys are?" asked Elrond, "Another Easterling assault?" To be fair, Elrond had spent 2,500 years in Middle Earth dealing with every kind of unpleasantness the lands of Eastern Middle Earth could devise.
"No. They seem to be going in a straight line—clearly not a Mordor ally," answered Gandalf.
"They *are* veering off a bit," Frodo observed fairly.
"Still," Celeborn muttered, "I do not like the look of those rods they are aiming at us."
Gandalf, who had traveled in these parts a few times before, glowered at the approaching ships. "They are not rods, they are guns, and if they hit us with them, we'll not be worrying about being out of Lembas for much longer." Gandalf had enjoyed a run-in with US Coast Guard Cutters before and escaped with little more than battered dignity.
Galadriel goggled at the old wizard. "How the bloody eye of Sauron do you know that?"
Gandalf blushed beneath his long beard. "Turns out I have been a crappy navigator before… The important thing to note is that we need to not be here when they arrive or it will be fairly unfortunate. Someone get a damned breeze into the sails and lets make like Barad Dur and scramble."
Glorfindel sprang into action, summoning up a breeze to fill the main sail and begin the ship inching off the shoal.
"What does this lever do?" asked Bilbo, prodding at the small lever near the navigator wheel.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" exclaimed Galadriel and Cirdan in one rather loud voice.
"Oops…" said Bilbo as the lever moved and a large heavy anchor was released, stopping all movement by the inching ship.
The Coast Guard Cutters helpfully moved ever closer, and a magnified voice began shouting in an obscure language.
"Anyone have an idea what they're on about?" mused Galadriel
"It is plain as day they are ordering us to disarm and put our hands over our heads," explained Gandalf.
"Do what?" asked Frodo
"Ah. Right. I forgot something." Gandalf murmured a brief incantation and from his staff came a glow of blue mist that enveloped the party for a span and then disappeared.
Now everyone was joining Gandalf in hearing the blaring orders spewing from a device on the center vessel.
"STAND DOWN IMMEDIATELY. PLACE YOUR WEAPONS ON THE GROUND AND PLACE YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD."
Galadriel smiled, "Very nice hospitality committee they have here. Is it always like this or did your winning ways charm them during your last visit, Mithrandir?"
Gandalf scowled, "This lot treats anything different as evil. You should see what happens when someone changes a soft-drink formula. Now we need to either come along quietly, or run like hell. As this is an island and our ship is grounded, I am thinking it is come along quietly."
Celeborn snorted. "I think not. The Elder race will never be ordered about by humans. Let us see how they like an arrow from the Golden Wood. " He leapt up on the railing of the ship in a most impressively elvish manner and brought up his bow—a gleaming arrow already set to fire.
"I would NOT do that, Celeborn, the human arrows—they call them bullets—are faster and hurt more." Called Gandalf as he beckoned the others to move away from the ship and take cover.
Predictably Celeborn fired. Even more predictably, he struck a crewman on the lead craft—dead in the life-vest and out the back—from a hundred paces. A rather impressive shot, really…Yet more predictable though was the immediate command to open fire, and lovely red lights beginning their tracing across the water towards the elf ship.
The tracer rounds climbed up the shore, stitched a skilled-weaving pattern on the hull of the ship, and blasted Celeborn off the other side, where he probably lay twitching on the ground. It was several minutes before the gunfire ceased, and the ship was so much shire-cheese—being full of countless bullet holes.
The party was stunned by the stupidity of Celeborn, the swiftness of his demise, and the violence of the return fire. They remained hidden behind some rocks and shrubs, waiting for the hostile ships to make landfall.
Gandalf decided it was high time someone put a stop to the crazy, so he tuned up his Saruman-Voice (One does not be a unwilling guest of Saruman at Orthanc for months without picking up on a few things.) He stepped out from behind the bullet-riddled ship and cried in a voice that could be heard clearly for leagues,
"Stop your fire! There are no hostiles here! The arrow was an unfortunate accidental misfire of a signal that we were friendly. We are not the droids you're looking for!"
Galadriel boggled, "Gandalf! Get down! They'll kill you too! "
Elrond wondered, "What the hell are droids?"
Bilbo added helpfully, "Why are they looking for droids?"
"No one ever gives me droids," complained Frodo.
"Gandalf sighed and said, "Droids are either little metal people or small communications devices. Or sometimes both. But we aren't them. And, Frodo? Shut it."
"Seems to have worked, though," commented Glorfindel.
"Damn, that hurt," groaned Celeborn as he climbed back up out of the ship's hold wherein his bullet-riddled, but apparently not vaporized body had landed.
"How the sodding hell did you survive that?" shrieked Galadriel, "who was likely watching a monster inheritance vanish with every living step Celeborn took.
Frodo stormed, "Celeborn, give me back that mythril shirt and stay the hell out of my cabin!"
"You lot *do* get a ton of mileage out of my old shirt," chuckled Bilbo. "I need to start charging rent by the death avoided."
"Because that will happen, "snarked Frodo. "You gave the shirt to me and its MINE, Precious!"
Three bows, a sword, a dagger, a walking stick, and a wizard staff were suddenly poised inches away from Frodo's head. He took this as a sign that perhaps talk of precious things should cease, and backed away with a comment "Right, right. Easy with the hardware..."
"So. These lads with the red arrows, " began Celeborn. What are we going to do about them?"
"Gandalf could set their boats on fire!" Suggested Frodo with more enthusiasm than he had shown since they left Middle Earth. Of course most here were well aware that Frodo was a closet pyromaniac—a habit he picked up from Peregrine Took. Few would ever forget the exploding birthday party for Bilbo, or—more recently—the conflagration sensation when Frodo accidentally set an intentional fire on the docks which caused the former home of Cirdan to burn to the ground. Tolkien could never be bothered to tell you about that though, so we'll just point it out here. Speaking of Cirdan-Ok I am writing of, but really, suspend your snarky comments and play along, eh? It's not like anyone is *paying* me for this crap.
"What the Sodding HELL have you done to my bloody ship you flatulent morons!" Screamed Cirdan as he returned from behind the Statue of Liberty, holding a tight roll of paper in his hand which trailed behind from his sudden dash to the bushes earlier…"Can't a bloody shipwright take a dump without getting his ship shot up?"
Frodo mused, "Turns out….No."