"I'm okay!" Aragorn announced from beneath the fallen tree, speaking around the branches and spitting out a few twigs.
"Thank you again, my friend." Gandalf spoke calmly as Gwaihir the Eagle lord dropped the Ring neatly in front of Frodo's big feet. Well, they're big feet compared to the rest of him. That is, compared to human feet. They might not seem all that large if you didn't take into consideration general body-size. I mean, for a hobbit, those are pretty sizable feet… although they probably don't look at them as expansive themselves, since everybody has giant feet. All hobbits, I mean. Maybe they're not so gargantuan after all?
"This little interlude isn't exactly politically correct, is it?" Frodo raised his eyebrow, irritated. "My feet aren't that colossal."
Would you prefer it if I said Gwaihir dropped the ring neatly in front of Frodo's hairy feet?
"I think I preferred the mammoth-sized feet insults."
Good. Gwaihir dropped the ring neatly in front of Frodo's stupendous, jumbo, titanic, monstrously immense feet! (This moment brought to you by Elly's thesaurus.) And did I mention they were hairy?
"Can we stop talking about my feet, please? Talk about Pippin's feet."
Gwaihir didn't drop a ring neatly in front of Pippin's feet, though. And besides, I already used up all my favorite 'big' words.
"Then get on with it!" Frodo looked mildly hurt. (I would too if my feet were so vast… hey there's another one!)
Gwaihir responded with a shriek and disappeared into the horizon.
"Oh!" Frodo plucked the Ring off the ground, nonchalantly measuring his feet with a ruler.
"That was insane." Boromir said.
The wizard responded, "Indeed. Let us make sure nothing of the sort happens again… or this is going to be a long quest."
"Pippin did it!" Frodo persisted.
"If you say that again, I'm going home!" The other hobbit looked annoyed.
"Fine." Frodo studied his fingernails (brightly decorated by Legolas). "But don't blame me when orcs capture you and torture you in their lairs."
"That would happen?"
"Probably." Aragorn nodded casually.
"To Moria!" Gandalf decided. "I think we all agree that Caradhras is bad luck."
"Fine." They all consented.
And again I use the wonder known as: abridgment: They all go to the entrance of Moria, the dwarven kingdom. There is a door and it requires a password! (How original.) There is a blatantly mysterious pond right beside the door.
That's going to take forever. Let's get right to the point: Speak friend and enter! Rocks. Bubbles. Open! Poor dwarves. Octopus-thingy! Poor Frodo! Stuck. Tootsie Rolls. "Pippin did it!" Lost.
"Hey you… what's your name?"
"It's me… Sam!"
"Whatever, fella." Frodo ignored the despondent expression of the hobbit who had been trying darn hard to be his friend the entire journey. "Whose feet are bigger? Mine or Pippin's?" He was sitting on the cold cave floor with his big feet up against the Took's for easy comparing. "Well?"
"I'd have to say… Pippin's." Sam sniffled.
"Who asked you… who are you?" Frodo looked up as though he just noticed Sam for the first time. "Go away! And didn't I tell you, Pippin? Huh, huh?"
"Well naturally." Pippin reasoned. "I'm taller than you, so my feet would most likely be bigger."
"Taller?!" Frodo looked stunned. "That's not fair! I command you to hunch down for the rest of this adventure!"
Sam ventured to try his luck again. "That's not reason, Mr. Frodo. Who cares who's taller?"
"Aiiiieeee!" The ring-bearer freaked out. "Who is this stalker!? How do you know my name?!"
Merry smacked his forehead with his palm. "It's Sam, your servant! The only person (or hobbit, or dwarf, or elf, or wizard) in all the world who actually likes you!"
"It's true, Mr. Frodo." Sam agreed hopefully.
"So, like," Frodo scrunched his eyes in deep concentration. "Servant… servant… Oh! You're Molly my hairdresser?"
"No… I'm the gardener. And your friend, too."
"Don't tell me, let me guess! Ah! Bilbo, my butler?"
"Bilbo is your relative." Merry corrected. "You know, your patron, benefactor, supporter?" (A/N: Another moment thanks to Elly's thesaurus.)
"So you must be Legolas, my personal masseuse?" (A/N: Stop dreaming, girls.)
"You have a masseuse?!" Boromir, who had previously been ignoring the short people's… I mean, vertically challenged people's discussion in favor of amusing himself by flicking the back of Aragorn's tunic, and then whistling innocently, became suddenly interested. (A/N: What a run-on sentence! Yay me!) (A/N: What a bunch of author's notes! Yay me!)
"I am not your personal masseuse!" Legolas responded without gracing any of the un-elfs with actual eye contact.
"So!" Frodo exclaimed, accusingly. "You're not Legolas, my personal masseuse? Why did you lie, man?"
"I never said I was." Sam gave up and slumped on the ground in the midst of the group. They were patiently waiting for Gandalf to pick one of three directions, one of which invariably would lead them out of this tomb.
"It's been a few hours, Gandalf." Aragorn pressed gently, suddenly whirling around to find Boromir whistling off-key. "And," He continued speaking to the wizard, while making threatening glances at the flicking offender. "I think we'd better be on our way."
"Patience! Patience!" Gandalf insisted haughtily. "I have lost my way-"
"Pippin did it!" Frodo interrupted.
"Ahem. I have lost my way, and it will bring us no good fortune to charge on heedlessly. Keep your crown on, Aragorn."
Flick, flick, flick.
"Boromir, I know you're doing that." The future king grumbled.
Flick, flick.
"What, me?" Boromir responded. "Why would I ever flick the Lord of Gondor? It would be sacrilege!" He chuckled under his breath.
"Who said anything about flicking! Aha! You have incriminated yourself with your own foolish words!"
"Aw, dang."
"But Pippin's doing it!"
Evidently, the young hobbit had had enough, and allowed the famed Tookish aggression to emerge. Pippin lobbed a medium sized (that is, smaller than halfling's feet) rock at Frodo. "Shut up!"
CLUNK! Frodo toppled over with the force of the strike.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam sprung from his lazy position to kneel by his master's side. "Are you killed?"
"Pippin did it!" The ring-bearer's pointer finger rose above the rest of his floored form to accentuate his point. "Pippin did it! Pippin killed me!"
"He's killed!" Sam wailed.
Gandalf removed himself from his 'think mode' and approached the conflicted group of hobbits angrily. "Peregrin Took!? I saw that!"
"He was only defending himself!" Merry complained, not really understanding Frodo's unreasonable tick, but not having any qualms about speaking against him either.
"Why is it that some hobbits act like humans of their approximate height? That is, like children?" Gandalf loomed.
Pippin shrunk back. "Well see, I'm only twenty-eight, and hobbits aren't adults until thirty-three, so-"
"You are on a perilous quest! He is the ring-bearer! Next time it will be your head!"
Frodo sat up abruptly, knocking Sam over in the process. "Yeah!"
"He's alive!" Sam realized, struggling to his feet. "I thought you were killed!"
"Gandalf, who is this person?"
"I assure you it is perfectly scientific." Gandalf nodded, a slightly hyper gleam in his eyes.
"You propose," Gimli stared at the strange contraption. "To use this to divine our way through these tunnels? Madness!"
It was none other than the famed Wheel of Fate and Fortune®, complete with flashing neon lights, and a delightful 'blip, blip' sound that played when the Wheel was spun. Some rumored that Radagast the Brown had used the wondrous Wheel of Fate and Fortune® to strengthen his stock portfolio, consequently nearly costing him his fortune when the bureau found out… but that is another story, and who cares about the stock market anyway? I don't! (A/N: Note that this speaker is remarkably without any money whatsoever, so it figures.)
"It will perform exactly as we need it to." Gandalf sniffed, caressing the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® reassuringly. "And it doesn't appreciate being spoken about so skeptically."
"One quick question." Merry hazarded. "How in Eru's name have you been carrying that thing around without any of us noticing? It's bigger than me!"
"That's no real feat." Legolas mumbled.
"Hey!" The hobbits took offense.
"What!?" Legolas grinned confidently. "I only said, 'those are real big feet'."
That comment seemed to crack Frodo's controlled countenance. He tossed the same rock that had been earlier used to bean him. Naturally, Legolas caught it easily, brushed the dirt off of it, and added it to his collection of 'clean rocks,' right next to the box of 'clean leaves,' and to the right of the 'clean dirt.' There had been some speculation among the group as to how exactly dirt could be clean, but everybody concluded that if anybody could do it, Legolas could.
"Use your head, Meriadoc!" Gandalf scolded. "What would a wizard be without magic? Magic has brought the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® to our aid. Now, we have the passage on the left, the center, and the right. Would the ring-bearer please spin the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® to determine which passage we should traverse?"
"I want Legolas to apologize, first." Frodo sulked, measuring his feet again to assure himself.
"Oh for Elendil's sake!" Legolas sighed. "I'm sorry you have tremendous feet, halfling."
Frodo put away the measuring tape and growled like an animal. (A/N: I can somehow picture the movie Frodo doing that… kinda like Adam Sandler in the Water Boy? Do you see it? No? I'll go away now.) "Well, it's Pippin's fault anyway."
"So I'm responsible for our being short, and our larger than average feet, huh?" The Took glowered.
"Spin the Wheel, already!" Aragorn tapped his foot impatiently.
"Indeed." Gandalf forcibly moved Frodo to the foot of the amazing Wheel of Fate and Fortune® and his expression clearly suggested that he either spin it, or face his otherworldly wrath.
Frodo chose to spin. He stood on his tiptoes to reach a handhold on the Wheel (think the Price is Right) and applied his energy to the spin.
Blip, blip, blip, blip, blip! The Fellowship watched the rotating motion, transfixed by this odd turn, some slightly irked that they were resigning their fate (and the fate of the world) to a game show prop. Gandalf looked satisfied, however, and seeing as he could roast the other eight heroes together all at once without skipping a beat, they kept silent.
Blip, blip, blip, blip, blip! Why did Frodo spin so hard anyway? The Wheel was still going at a rather fast turn, and Sam could almost feel his brain turning somersaults as his eyes followed the brightly lit object. It seemed as though it were hypnotizing the whole group with its cheerful promise of direction.
Blip, blip, blip, blip, blip! The blips were growing farther and farther apart as the Wheel slowed, tantalizing its audience with the choices available on its glossy surface.
"A neeeew car!" Gimli announced in the tone of a game show host. "Mr. Baggins, you have just won a brand new Camaro Convertible!" (A/N: What hey, I like Camaros!)
Everybody turned to the wizard, vexed. "A new car?"
"The Wheel of Fate and Fortune® is never wrong." Gandalf insisted.
"What's an oliphaunt?" Pippin asked innocently. "I mean… what's a car?"
Sam leapt to the center of the group excitedly, folded his arms behind his back as he often did while he recited, and started spouting poetry at the flabbergasted group. "The golden invention of mass transit, where people get in an' sit, a combustible engine does the trick, to get folks places real quick, called the carriage without the horse, this vehicle has roads for a coarse, driving twice as fast, twice as far, consuming gas, that's a car!" He bowed proudly. (A/N: Ignore it… it's five in the morning right now! LOL)
"Oka~y…" Pippin looked at the fellow hobbit pathetically. "What's mass transit, combustible engines, vehicles, and I reiterate… what's a car?!"
"I'm assuming, this is!" Gimli announced, suddenly seated in the driver's seat of a tight looking red convertible Camaro, undoubtedly the gorgeous model from 96… ha, but I digress!
"A dragon!" Frodo took a few paces backwards, took a bad step, and fell, pointing at the unusual monster fearfully. "My butler… he used to tell me about these things! It's eaten poor Gimli!"
"That ain't no dragon, Mr. Frodo." Sam shook his head. "I'd bet my pots and pans that's a car, just like I described to you. I never thought they really existed!"
"By Durin's Hammer!" Gimli fiddled with some devices near to the driver's seat, as though he were familiar with them somehow. "This baby's fully-loaded! Complete with a CD player, four-wheel drive, surround sound, and a spare tire! I'd wager this'll get us to Mount Doom a little quicker."
"Leather interior?" Legolas looked at the dwarf as though he refused to sit on anything less plush than leather.
Gimli's eyes shined back. "Better. It's Mythril, Master Elf!"
"Good spin!" Boromir shook Frodo's hand sincerely, rocking the hobbit off his feet again.
"Frodo! Are you killed?" Sam glared at Boromir.
"Pippin did it!"
"The real question is," Aragorn jumped into the front passenger seat. "Is this really going to help us with the quest?"
"Doubtless." Gandalf sat into the comfy back seat. "If the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® deemed to give us this gift of providence, then it will surely assist us."
Boromir sat himself next to Gandalf.
Legolas leapt gracefully into the back as well. "This seating is limited. We will need to make two trips."
"No need." Gimli popped the trunk and some hobbits piled in. "Where to, gov?"
"To Mordor!" Aragorn lifted a fist into the air triumphantly, closing his eyes in anticipation of the ride. Unfortunately, his heroic pose was spoiled as the car stalled, groaning embarrassingly.
"Oh… wait a minute." Gimli tried the ignition again. "Ahem. Where to?"
"To Mordor!" Aragorn and Legolas cheered enthusiastically, shouldering their weapons with brave faces. The car whined pathetically, but the engine didn't turn over.
Gimli blushed and slapped the steering wheel. "Stupid machine. I hear these are made in Gondor, so what do you expect?"
"Hey!" Boromir and Aragorn exploded.
"Alright… third time's the trick, right? Where to?" Gimli ignored the men's outburst.
"To Mordor…" Everybody in the car mumbled unhappily. Naturally, the convertible responded well to this and took off at a goodly pace down the center passage. Nobody seemed too concerned about their direction, now that they had a spiffy new vehicle to cruise around in.
"This is amazing!" Sam wiggled his feet outside the open trunk as they bumped down some carved stone steps. "This is way better than Bill!"
Somewhere between the entrance to Moria and Bree, a pony dropped dead from lack of love and appreciation, but hey, what am I saying? That's basically what the movie did to poor Bill anyway, right? (Funeral services will be held after the fic.)
Several hours later:
"This is truly the only way to travel." Aragorn watched the scenery of Moria pass leisurely past, lazily calculating how long it would have taken to cover so much ground on foot.
"A true miracle." Gimli laughed gruffly, as he expertly guided the Camaro through Moria. Nobody had the wits to question his affinity for this, the only car in all of Middle Earth… that's our Fellowship, though, those trusting wretches!
"And to think," Boromir was feeling rather uncomfortable, stuck in between Gandalf, who was practicing some scary sounding incantation, and Legolas, who was snatching flies out of the air, dipping them in some bleach and then adding them to his 'clean stuff' collection. "To think that if it weren't for the quest and the ring-bearer-"
"Dang it!" Sam exclaimed. "We forgot the ring-bearer."
The car screeched to a halt, and Gimli got out and walked to the trunk. "Say what, little hobbit?"
"We left Frodo at the fork in the road." Sam looked quite guilty.
"You mean we have to go all that way back to get him?!"
And that is what they did!
They found Frodo looking especially mournful, huddled by the also abandoned Wheel of Fate and Fortune®. As soon as he noticed the group had returned, he feigned a feverish spell. "Oh… I wish the Ring had never come to me! I wish none of this had ever happened! Pippin did it!!"
"He's ill!" Sam fell for the act (hey, that's why we love him… so dang gullible).
Legolas felt a pang of remorse, realizing that of the entire group he should have noticed Frodo's absence. After all, he was the only one with such good eyesight, fashion sense, mad skills, and of course that elven flair for modesty. "Why… as cool as I am, could I not prevent this?"
"He's faking." Gimli said, matter of factly. "He does that to get attention, haven't you noticed?"
"Argh!" Frodo continued writhing. "My so called friends have abandoned me! Maybe they should give me their Tootsie Rolls to make up for this travesty!"
"Certainly, Mr. Frodo!" Sam leapt from the trunk, and proceeded to empty the contents of his pack onto Frodo who 'recovered' with a start when Sam's largest pan fell on his face.
"Who are you, you litterer!?" He rubbed his nose with an injured air.
"Guess." Pippin suggested dryly.
Frodo scrutinized Sam, still holding his wounded nose. "Gimli my chauffer?"
"You have a chauffer?" Legolas looked impressed.
"I am not his servant!" Gimli snorted, waiting impatiently behind the steering wheel. "Now let's get going. We've wasted enough time here."
Sam led Frodo to the trunk, happy to have him back.
"Why do I have to sit in the trunk?!" Frodo complained, the moment he saw his destination. "I am the ring-bearer, after all!"
"There's no more room in the car." Merry reasoned. "It's perfectly comfortable back here."
"Why doesn't Aragorn sit back here, then?"
"I'm too big." Aragorn snapped. He was growing tired of Frodo's spoiled attitude, and he was beginning to wonder why fate had given him the Ring. Naturally, Boromir was having similar thoughts… just a little more on the sinister side of the spectrum.
"I don't want to sit in the stinking trunk!"
"FINE!" Gandalf roared. "You may take my place, and I will take yours. Happy?"
Frodo nodded childishly.
"He's looking at me funny!" It was hours into the drive again, and Frodo was bored, what without Pippin to pick on at the moment. "Boromir's looking at me!"
"I… was… not!" Boromir pretended he wasn't, whistling off-key as he had during the flicking incident.
Frodo crossed his arms stubbornly. During the course of the quest, he had been reverting strangely back into his infantile bad natured-ness, which Bilbo had tried so hard to correct in him.
BOOM… BOOOM… BOOOOM! A faint shudder trembled through the caves, and the Camaro wobbled slightly. Aragorn's plastic cup of clean drinking water had been sitting in the cup-holder, and the vibrations were creating rings in the liquid.
BOOOOOM!
"Look at that!" Aragorn gestured towards the water, fearful of this unforeseen occurrence. "There's an earthquake?"
Legolas suddenly tried to stand up in his seat, but fell back, restrained by his seat belt. The elf immediately began trying to unhook the belt, with little luck. "I'm stuck! There's a monster straight ahead!"
"A monster?" Gimli gazed down the future road. "I see nothing."
"I see better!" Legolas half informed, half taunted. "And I see a monster! Put on the brakes!"
"Is this just some clever way of asking for a pit stop without admitting you forgot to go before we left? Foolish elves…"
Boromir began to fancy that he could make out a glowing speck in the distance, which he tried to communicate to Gimli. The dwarf, was however, currently too indignant to notice.
"Look!" Legolas struggled with the seat belt, desperate. "I can't shoot it, because I'm strapped down!"
"I see it, also!" Aragorn leaned forward. "It is covered in flames!"
From the trunk, Gandalf could be heard ranting. "It is a Balrog of old! This foe is beyond any of you! We must flee!"
Gimli was doing an easy forty-five, not bothering to change his course, regardless of what his companions pleaded. "It is nothing. You will see."
"I have something prepared for just this kind of situation!" Frodo announced, grabbing some pages from his pack that he had written during the long road trip. Frodo began reading out loud:
"Frodo's Guide to Self Defense
Rule #1: When being confronted by a foe, throw your weapon as far away as possible. Towards your friends is always a good idea.
Rule #2: Fall flat on your on your butt.
Rule #3: Crawl away from the threat as slowly as possibly, making sure to stare wide-eyed at it. Maybe they won't notice you! Or maybe they will…
Rule #4: If they do, finger the Ring suspiciously.
Rule #5: If that didn't scare them away, put the Ring on. Make sure you stay perfectly still in the same exact spot your enemy saw you disappear. If you just so happen to be fighting Ringwraiths, you're screwed!
Rule #6: Remember to breathe heavily as you are stabbed to death and throw in an obnoxious scream for good measure. If you're lucky, a ranger (hopefully a king in disguise) will come to your rescue. If not, you're still screwed!
Rule #7: Should you survive all this, squeak. Squeak a whole lot while you breathe, and constantly, because it is really cute. It makes people want to help you, and that is always good for somebody who's Rule #2 is to fall flat on his butt.
Rule #8: Fall unconscious right when it seems like everything is turning out all right, but you don't want to give up the attention yet. Let out one great last squeak before you do so.
Epilogue: These survival techniques will protect you against everything except foes who can see you, hear you, smell you, or sense you. Mostly it helps you gain sympathy from other good guys, which is fun, but is basically the equivalent of painting a big target on your back. It's up to you whether you prefer pity, or a pulse."
Frodo finished reading with a look of satisfaction on his face, clearly waiting for a response from the audience.
"Well I could have told you that." Aragorn responded, folding his arms.
"That was wonderful, Mr. Frodo!" Sam clapped from the trunk.
Merry's critique could be heard, though rather breathless from fear of the oncoming danger. "That was dumb!"
"Oh," Frodo crumpled up the paper and threw it outside of the car. "I thought so too, because Pippin wrote it."
Sam didn't question this (despite the fact that the story was called 'Frodo's Guide To Self-Defense), and promptly joined Frodo's opinion. "Pippin, I didn't know you were so uncreative!"
"Why are we discussing Frodo's stupid literature at a time like this?!" Pippin clenched his teeth. "We're about to become Middle-Earth Munchies! Stop the car!"
The dwarf finally realized that there was indeed a Balrog intended for a collision into their shiny new car. "Full reverse!" He switched gears fluidly, looked over his shoulder, and started racing the convertible backwards. "Hold on in the back!"
The Balrog pursued them furiously, swinging its fiery whip at the hood. It was so close now, that Legolas could feel all his clean flies popping in their bag from the heat.
"Now this is Pod Racing!" Frodo cheered, folding his arms behind his head.
The havoc in the trunk was ridiculous. Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Gandalf were being tossed around with no seat belts to speak of. Pippin anchored himself to the spare tire and looked at the rapidly passing caverns.
"Gimli!" He called, wide-eyed with terror. "Watch where you're going! We're about to crash into a-"
Too late. The Camaro drove over a lumpy rock protrusion, launching everybody to one side violently. Gandalf, too large to cling to the small space, flew from the trunk helplessly.
"Gandalf!!!" The three hobbits watched him disappear under the car.
BUMP! BUMP!
"What was that!?" Boromir screeched, referring to the strange object they had just careened over. The Balrog tromped over a discarded, grayish lump.
"The Western Shores forbid!" Aragorn wailed. "We just ran over Gandalf the Gray!"
Frodo stopped enjoying the ride at that moment. "Pippin did what!?"
"We'll crash for sure if we keep this up!" Gimli announced. "Who agrees with me that we should take this threat on headlong?"
"NOOOOO!!" Was the unanimous reply. Everybody held on to their seats, began praying, and generally accepted their upcoming deaths as the driver switched gears again.
"This is for my kin!" Gimli shouted war cries as he slammed the car right into the flaming monster.