DISCLAIMERS: I am the Killer. If I said I owned The Lord of the Rings, would you really want to dispute my claim? No? Wise answer. As it is, I would prefer to forestall unnecessary bloodshed, and the people in charge of copyright laws are just foolish enough to challenge me, so I will say right now that I do not own The Lord of the Rings, as you who live in the twenty-first century call the Red Book. Froda, or Frodo as you know him, wrote the Red Book, so he has ownership of it. Sadly, Froda died several centuries ago, so perhaps the copyright has now passed on to John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, who did the world a great service by translating the Red Book to English, so that all might know the "history of the War of the Ring and the return of the King, as seen by the hobbits."

            We went to Edoras, and I was granted an audience with King Théoden. I spoke for quite some time, using thees and thous and forasmuches, but saying absolutely nothing.

            Then Éomer left for Eastfold, and I set out toward Lothlórien. I lost track of the days, but it was sometime near the end of February or the beginning of March, by the Shire calendar, when I reached Fangorn Forest. I use the Shire calendar because it is so logical, and I do admire logic.

            Far off, I heard voices. They sounded hauntingly familiar.

            'Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine, and more besides.' Now where had I heard that voice before?

            'As for that, the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Éomer son of Éomund, and am called the Third Marshal of Riddermark.'

            Then Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwerrow Gloin's son warn you against foolish words.' Ah, so 'twas Gimli's voice, which I had heard at Elrond's Council. 'You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you.' Dwerrows and their thick skulls!

            Then Éomer spoke. 'I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwerrow, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.'

            And—wonder of wonders!—it was Legolas who spoke next. 'He stands not alone. You would die before your stroke fell.' Elves and their fiery tempers! (Myself included.)

            I had no trouble recognizing Legolas' voice, for we had been friends for the past few thousand years.

            I was too far away to do anything, so I simply went into the forest, hoping that there was someone in the group with enough wits to rectify the situation.

It is short. The next chapter will also be short. I have it written as one long chapter, but I like splitting it into short chapters better, because it means more chances for reviews. Speaking of reviews....Did you notice the button down there, marked 'Go'? Would you please be so kind as to press it?