Chapter Three: The Council of Elrond
So Frodo woke up in Rivendell. The first thing he saw was a grey haired wizard smoking pot at the end of his bed.
"Woah." Said Frodo, "how the hell did I get here? And where is here? And please also tell me the exact time and date, because I really need to know that."
"It isn't important. What matters is that you're not actually dead, now we'd better get on with it before this becomes the longest spoof in history. You're in the House of Elrond…"
"If that's what I think it is I want nothing to do with it!" Cried Frodo. "I'm pure and innocent…I have enormous eyes…I will not be corrupted!"
"Eh? Said Gandalf, but mercifully the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Sam, who threw himself on Frodo (oo-er).
"Sam has hardly left your side." The wizard explained. "He copped a feel several times while you were unconscious. So did I, in fact."
"Hmm." Said Frodo, but before he could object Elrond himself arrived. He was a long, thin, droopy sort of elf with a perpetually miserable expression and, like all his kin, extremely effeminate hair and very pointy ears.
"Yo, Spock, how's it hangin'?" Gandalf greeted their host. Only a great wizard could be so familiar with a such a dignified elf, thought Frodo, impressed.
"You'd better get up, shortarse." Elrond addressed Frodo directly. "We're having a meeting. Ten minutes, by the big stone thing, be there or be square." And he wandered off, doubtless to braid his hair before the big powwow. Sam stared after him.
"Somehow he ain't quite what I expected, Mr. Frodo." (insert yokel vernacular here)
"And his name sounds vaguely rude." Agreed Frodo.
And so Frodo and Gandalf went off to Elrond's council, where a large group of random people was waiting for them. It included: Bilbo, who was looking pretty wrinkly, Strider, still in the guise of a scruffy Ranger (even though everyone must surely have figured the truth by now), Elrond himself (of course), a bunch of other elves, one of which Frodo thought was a girl until he noticed that he had a very long bow: this last was called Legolas, obviously his mother had it in for him from birth. To the elf's left sat an ugly little git whom Frodo recognised as a dwarf, and who apparently was called 'Groin'. To the right of Legolas sat a grey-eyed man in a state of perpetual sulk. Legolas was trying to engage him in conversation.
"What an enormous horn you have!" The elf cooed, patting it. The sulking man gave him a dirty look and inched away.
"Now then, settle down!" Cried Elrond, climbing onto a soap box. "There are one or two notices I'd like to give before calling upon some of you to go off on a perilous journey with Shortarse here to take a sinister ring to Mount Doom in the land of Mordor (read: Birmingham Bull Ring).
"Firstly, the guy to my left is not a homeless but is in fact the King of Men, called Aragorn." The sulky chap with the enormous horn blew a loud raspberry.
"Secondly, the hard bastard sitting next to Legolas is Boromir, from the South: he wants to tell us all about a dream he's been having. Please welcome Boromir to the show, ladies and gentlemen." There was a brief round of applause. Boromir got to his feet.
"Well, its like this, Elrond. My brother and I have been having the same dream for many nights."
"So you're sleeping with your brother"? Mused Elrond.
"That's not important. In this dream, there is a great eye – yea, even a pair of eyes, a pair of eyes that are fiery red and greatly bozzed. And each eye forms a ring of fire, and out of the ring steps Johnny Cash, and twenty naked dancing ladies. What does this mean, O great elf?" Elrond had been analysing the dream with great attention. Finally he said,
"It means you want to sleep with your mother. That'll be five hundred deutschmarks. On with the show." Boromir paid up and sat down, then suddenly sprang up again and for no apparent reason began verbally abusing the rest of the gathering; Legolas, Aragorn and some random elves began to talk Bollocks at one another; Elrond looked very pissed off; Gandalf insulted Boromir's mother; Boromir began sniffling; and in the midst of it all, Frodo stood up and said in a small but firm voice,
"Shut the fuck up!" After he had screamed this several times, everyone did, and turned to stare at him. There were many cries of,
"Shut it yourself, Shortarse!" But Elrond insisted,
"Let the Halfling speak."
"Er…well that was it really." Frodo admitted. "You're giving me a headache. Can't I just leave the ring here and go home?"
"Ring?" Said everyone, puzzled.
"Oh, did I forget to mention that?" Murmured Elrond. "D'oh!" And thence followed a long explanation with many flashbacks and special effects.
"Cor!" Said everyone at the end of it. "What now?"
"Well, now someone has to take the ring to Mordor, and throw it into the fires of Mount Doom, like that prat Isildur should have done a couple of thousand years ago. It would have saved all this trouble."
"Do we really have to go to Mordor?" Quavered an elf.
"Let's not and say we did." Suggested another.
"We could make up a song about it." Added a third.
"No, no! The ring must be destroyed." Elrond was firm on this.
"Just a minute." Boromir put in, putting away his handkerchief. "Why don't we keep the ring?"
"Eh?" Said everyone, suspiciously, Boromir being an obviously dodgy git.
"Well, we could use the enemy's weapon against him." The Man went on, turning to Frodo. "Please can I have your ring, Frodo?"
"No!" Cried the hobbit.
"You can have mine." Legolas offered coquettishly. Boromir decided to sit somewhere else.
"Right then, you bunch of cowardly bastards," exclaimed Elrond, "Frodo can go to Mordor…"
"Thanks very much." Said Frodo.
"…along with a Fellowship to protect the ring. And, er, him as well, of course. Who will go with Frodo, and face horrible death?" There was a long, protracted silence. Groin (or whatever his name was) muttered something about attending his mother's funeral.
"But your mother isn't dead!" Cried his son Gimli (more of whom later).
"She will be if I kill her."
"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Aragorn stood to his full height, then stooped again to address Frodo.
"I'll come with you, little chap, and I'll protect you with my life."
"You patronising git." Said Frodo. Eventually of course everyone wanted to go, and Elrond selected nine: of which, one was actually useful in having magical powers (Gandalf the Gay and his day-glo staff); two could fight (Aragorn and Boromir, who was being allowed to join the company on the promise of trying to steal the ring while carrying an enormous sign marked 'plot'); one was an utter girl (no explanation needed); one yet another shortarse, this one with an axe (Gimli, son of Groin); and four of them the least useful creatures you might want with you in a scrap: yes, all the hobbits were going as well, apart from Bilbo who was too wrinkly. They were afraid bits of him might drop off.
"Right then," said Elrond happily – he was relieved he didn't have to go – "that's sorted. You shall be known as the Fellowship of the Ring."
And so the Company set off, singing rude songs as they marched: Frodo with his ring, Gandalf with his staff, Aragorn with his immensely useful broken sword, Legolas with his girly bow, Gimli with his axe, and Boromir with his Oedipus complex and a box of Kleenex. The hobbits trailed behind ineffectually, occasionally being carried over the muddy bits. And thus the Fellowship was forged.
So Frodo woke up in Rivendell. The first thing he saw was a grey haired wizard smoking pot at the end of his bed.
"Woah." Said Frodo, "how the hell did I get here? And where is here? And please also tell me the exact time and date, because I really need to know that."
"It isn't important. What matters is that you're not actually dead, now we'd better get on with it before this becomes the longest spoof in history. You're in the House of Elrond…"
"If that's what I think it is I want nothing to do with it!" Cried Frodo. "I'm pure and innocent…I have enormous eyes…I will not be corrupted!"
"Eh? Said Gandalf, but mercifully the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Sam, who threw himself on Frodo (oo-er).
"Sam has hardly left your side." The wizard explained. "He copped a feel several times while you were unconscious. So did I, in fact."
"Hmm." Said Frodo, but before he could object Elrond himself arrived. He was a long, thin, droopy sort of elf with a perpetually miserable expression and, like all his kin, extremely effeminate hair and very pointy ears.
"Yo, Spock, how's it hangin'?" Gandalf greeted their host. Only a great wizard could be so familiar with a such a dignified elf, thought Frodo, impressed.
"You'd better get up, shortarse." Elrond addressed Frodo directly. "We're having a meeting. Ten minutes, by the big stone thing, be there or be square." And he wandered off, doubtless to braid his hair before the big powwow. Sam stared after him.
"Somehow he ain't quite what I expected, Mr. Frodo." (insert yokel vernacular here)
"And his name sounds vaguely rude." Agreed Frodo.
And so Frodo and Gandalf went off to Elrond's council, where a large group of random people was waiting for them. It included: Bilbo, who was looking pretty wrinkly, Strider, still in the guise of a scruffy Ranger (even though everyone must surely have figured the truth by now), Elrond himself (of course), a bunch of other elves, one of which Frodo thought was a girl until he noticed that he had a very long bow: this last was called Legolas, obviously his mother had it in for him from birth. To the elf's left sat an ugly little git whom Frodo recognised as a dwarf, and who apparently was called 'Groin'. To the right of Legolas sat a grey-eyed man in a state of perpetual sulk. Legolas was trying to engage him in conversation.
"What an enormous horn you have!" The elf cooed, patting it. The sulking man gave him a dirty look and inched away.
"Now then, settle down!" Cried Elrond, climbing onto a soap box. "There are one or two notices I'd like to give before calling upon some of you to go off on a perilous journey with Shortarse here to take a sinister ring to Mount Doom in the land of Mordor (read: Birmingham Bull Ring).
"Firstly, the guy to my left is not a homeless but is in fact the King of Men, called Aragorn." The sulky chap with the enormous horn blew a loud raspberry.
"Secondly, the hard bastard sitting next to Legolas is Boromir, from the South: he wants to tell us all about a dream he's been having. Please welcome Boromir to the show, ladies and gentlemen." There was a brief round of applause. Boromir got to his feet.
"Well, its like this, Elrond. My brother and I have been having the same dream for many nights."
"So you're sleeping with your brother"? Mused Elrond.
"That's not important. In this dream, there is a great eye – yea, even a pair of eyes, a pair of eyes that are fiery red and greatly bozzed. And each eye forms a ring of fire, and out of the ring steps Johnny Cash, and twenty naked dancing ladies. What does this mean, O great elf?" Elrond had been analysing the dream with great attention. Finally he said,
"It means you want to sleep with your mother. That'll be five hundred deutschmarks. On with the show." Boromir paid up and sat down, then suddenly sprang up again and for no apparent reason began verbally abusing the rest of the gathering; Legolas, Aragorn and some random elves began to talk Bollocks at one another; Elrond looked very pissed off; Gandalf insulted Boromir's mother; Boromir began sniffling; and in the midst of it all, Frodo stood up and said in a small but firm voice,
"Shut the fuck up!" After he had screamed this several times, everyone did, and turned to stare at him. There were many cries of,
"Shut it yourself, Shortarse!" But Elrond insisted,
"Let the Halfling speak."
"Er…well that was it really." Frodo admitted. "You're giving me a headache. Can't I just leave the ring here and go home?"
"Ring?" Said everyone, puzzled.
"Oh, did I forget to mention that?" Murmured Elrond. "D'oh!" And thence followed a long explanation with many flashbacks and special effects.
"Cor!" Said everyone at the end of it. "What now?"
"Well, now someone has to take the ring to Mordor, and throw it into the fires of Mount Doom, like that prat Isildur should have done a couple of thousand years ago. It would have saved all this trouble."
"Do we really have to go to Mordor?" Quavered an elf.
"Let's not and say we did." Suggested another.
"We could make up a song about it." Added a third.
"No, no! The ring must be destroyed." Elrond was firm on this.
"Just a minute." Boromir put in, putting away his handkerchief. "Why don't we keep the ring?"
"Eh?" Said everyone, suspiciously, Boromir being an obviously dodgy git.
"Well, we could use the enemy's weapon against him." The Man went on, turning to Frodo. "Please can I have your ring, Frodo?"
"No!" Cried the hobbit.
"You can have mine." Legolas offered coquettishly. Boromir decided to sit somewhere else.
"Right then, you bunch of cowardly bastards," exclaimed Elrond, "Frodo can go to Mordor…"
"Thanks very much." Said Frodo.
"…along with a Fellowship to protect the ring. And, er, him as well, of course. Who will go with Frodo, and face horrible death?" There was a long, protracted silence. Groin (or whatever his name was) muttered something about attending his mother's funeral.
"But your mother isn't dead!" Cried his son Gimli (more of whom later).
"She will be if I kill her."
"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Aragorn stood to his full height, then stooped again to address Frodo.
"I'll come with you, little chap, and I'll protect you with my life."
"You patronising git." Said Frodo. Eventually of course everyone wanted to go, and Elrond selected nine: of which, one was actually useful in having magical powers (Gandalf the Gay and his day-glo staff); two could fight (Aragorn and Boromir, who was being allowed to join the company on the promise of trying to steal the ring while carrying an enormous sign marked 'plot'); one was an utter girl (no explanation needed); one yet another shortarse, this one with an axe (Gimli, son of Groin); and four of them the least useful creatures you might want with you in a scrap: yes, all the hobbits were going as well, apart from Bilbo who was too wrinkly. They were afraid bits of him might drop off.
"Right then," said Elrond happily – he was relieved he didn't have to go – "that's sorted. You shall be known as the Fellowship of the Ring."
And so the Company set off, singing rude songs as they marched: Frodo with his ring, Gandalf with his staff, Aragorn with his immensely useful broken sword, Legolas with his girly bow, Gimli with his axe, and Boromir with his Oedipus complex and a box of Kleenex. The hobbits trailed behind ineffectually, occasionally being carried over the muddy bits. And thus the Fellowship was forged.