Disclaimer: This story is rubbish. You've been warned.
The hobbits collapsed on the ledge, exhausted from the climb up Weathertop, since Aragorn had insisted that they could not possibly sleep anywhere but right near the summit.
"Hey," said Aragorn, peering down at the inn below. "You know that inn that kind of had an innkeeper who kind of had a wife and a prize pig?"
"Yeah..." replied Frodo suspiciously.
"Well, it kind of looks like he kind of has a prize cow now," said Aragorn. "I'll see you in a couple hours. Here are some weapons." He dumped a pile of ninja stars at the hobbits' feet.
"Ugh," said Frodo, and he went to sleep.
When Frodo woke up, it was to the crackling of a bonfire and the sounds of his companions, stoned off their asses, dancing around it and making screechy noises.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, hopping up and trying to extinguish the fire by stamping on it. It was, however, a bonfire, and his leg disappeared up to the knee in it with each stomp.
"Aargh!" cried Frodo, realizing his mistake.
"NEEERCH!" commented the Nazgul from a few feet down the hill.
As Frodo was lying on the ground and writhing in painand the other hobbits were hopelessly chucking ninja stars at the Nazgul, which mostly flew off harmlessly, othetr than those that decapitated a family of squirrels, the Witch King approached, slowly and deliberately, and very melodramatically stabbed Frodo in the shoulder.
"No! Bad Nazgul!" cried Aragorn, charging up the hill. He reached the Witch King, and began beating him about the head with a rolled-up newspaper. "You do NOT stab people! Bad!"
He grabbed the Witch King by the collar and forced him to the ground, practically rubbing his nose in Frodo's injury.
"Look what you did!" yelled Aragorn. "Look at it!"
"Aowwrr," whimpered the Witch King. With that, Aragorn threw him off the side of Weathertop. The other Nazgul slunk away after him, tails tucked between their legs.
"Urgh..." interjected Frodo discontentedly.
Aragorn knelt beside him and studied the wound.
"Yup, he's been stabbed," said Aragorn knowledgeably. "Let's go—we need to reach Rivendell. I grew up there. We can mooch off my great times 39 uncle, Elrond Elfyman."
"Is that really his name?" asked Sam.
"No," said Aragorn. "It's just Elfyman."
"You're still lying, aren't you?"
"Probably."
"Euueuueuuhh," interrupted Frodo the attention whore. They looked over to see him lying on the ground. He was still stabbed, but now several vampires had come over and seemed to be sucking on him.
"Hey, get away from him," said Aragorn, moving towards them. Luckily for him and the hobbits, his muscles were "different," and the vampires couldn't read his moves. Also, his heavy natural musk so offended them that they willingly ate some garlic and died.
"That whole vampire thing is fucking stupid," proclaimed MysticButtCrystal.
"Musk!" said Spoofmaster.
"Seriously, though, that whole thing doesn't work. We should edit it out of the final version."
"Okay. The world...will never know."
However, they did not edit it out of the final version, and thousands of innocents died as a result.
"I'm so glad you know this method of transporting injured people, Aragorn," said Merry, helping with Frodo. "But don't you think it's a bit rough?"
"Of course not!" Aragorn reassured him, giving Frodo another good kick to keep him rolling down the slope. "It builds character!"
"But how are we going to move him once we reach flat land?" inquired Sam nervously.
"Well, we'll just...uhm...kick harder?" offered Aragorn.
"You're stupid," stated Pippin.
A few hours later, the travelers were a short distance from Rivendell. Frodo was looking a bit worse for the wear. "A bit worse" meaning he was one giant bruise with a bloody nose, and "the wear" meaning having been kicked in various places very hard, only to move two inches at a time.
Arwen, Glorfindel, and Animated Legolas suddenly converged on them as they were resting. Each of the three rode a snowy white horse, except for Animated Legolas, whose horse was off-white, because it was not a virgin horse.
"Nnneeiigh!" commented the slutty horse hornily.
"Mmmmm," grinned Aragorn, looking over at it. Sam slapped him.
"Behold!" cried Animated Legolas, leaping down from his perverted steed and nancing about in his tights and sequined cape, which shimmied and sparkled at his every move. "I have come to rescue you in your peril!"
"Like hell you have!" yelled Glorfindel, hopping down from his own super horse. "I'm the one in the book!"
"Hello, Aragorn," said Arwen softly. "I hope you are well."
"Hey, at least I have some fashion sense!" lisped Gay Animated Legolas, showing off his thighs.
"Oh, come on, like this story needs another gay elf!" growled Glorfindel angrily. "You and all your incarnations are what have ruined it for us! Besides, the only version where you come in and save Frodo here is that crappy half-assed cartoon!"
"My lady, you do not look well," murmured Aragorn, helping Arwen down from her horse.
"Thank you for being so concerned, sir," said Arwen, her eyes going all sparkly and a soft background replacing the forest.
"Right, well, I know how to settle this," said Glorfindel.
"And how's that?" asked Animated Legolas.
"Simple," said Glorfindel. "You kneel on the ground here and lean your head forward. Then I'll give you a big surprise!"
"Oh goody!" said Animated Legolas, getting into position. Glorfindel whipped out his trusty sword, and beheaded the other elf.
"And now that that's done..." sighed Glorfindel, turning to look at his other competitor.
"I have missed you..." said Arwen. She coughed into her hand, and a diseased look came over her face.
"And I have missed you," said Aragorn, hugging her. Her face turned blue, and she collapsed, dead. Aragorn knelt beside her, shocked, and stared at her corpse, its blue hair just as it had been in life. He started to cry.
"Well, then, I guess that's settled," said Glorfindel, hoisting Frodo onto his horse. "I'd send him on alone like in the book, but I really don't want to be here. These corpses disturb and anger me."
With that, he hopped on his horse behind Frodo, gave Animated Legolas's horse a good solid kick in the teeth, and took off for Rivendell.
A few minutes of bickering later, the rest of the group followed on the two remaining horses. The hobbits sat on Animated Legolas's lustful horse. They had really wanted to ride on Arwen's, but they didn't trust Aragorn with a creature so willing. Aragorn gently draped Arwen's corpse across the saddle of her own horse, and got on behind her. They left the body of Animated Legolas for the wolves. Or wargs, as the case may be. The Comedic Donkey trotted wistfully behind them, on his great and noble quest.
Glorfindel glanced back over his shoulder. Five Black Riders emerged from the woods behind him.
"My name is Ahahahahasfaloth," said his horse, Asfaloth. "This is looking pretty bahahahahad."
Actually, Asfaloth didn't say anything. Some stagehand had shoved peanut butter up into the back of his mouth, and some bad dubbing was going on.
Glorfindel stabbed Asfaloth with his spurs vengefully, urging him on.
"NEERCH!" commented the Nazgul. Or is that Nazguls? Or Nazgulzises? Or Nazguli? Or Nazgui?
Well, whatever. There was a plural of Nazgul of the number five, and a NEERCH they did commit to.
This quite startled their horses, who were still drunk from the bender they had gone on the night before. Being ridden by horrible undead zombies might also have had something to do with it. In any case, they bucked, throwing the Nazgul off just short of the river Glorfindel had crossed while we were dealing with all this plural form bullshit. The horses then ran off into the woods, never to be seen again. Maybe Tom Bombadil ate them out of spite for not being included in this version of the story.
Seriously, we thought about it, but all we could come up with for him was a dirty hillbilly who touched himself a lot.
ANYWAY...
"NEERCH!" commented the Witch King.
"Neerch?" asked one of his subordinates.
"Nee—
For your sake, we're going to start this exchange over from the first neerch, only translated into English
"DAMNIT!" yelled the Witch King.
"What will we do?" asked Bob.
Yes, his name was really Bob. It's just that when you hear them say it, it comes across with a certain, shall we say...neerch.
"Let's just chase him across the river on foot," suggested Jeffrey.
"Oh, don't step in the river!" protested Percy. "You'll get your shoes all wet!"
"I guess we're just going to have to give up, then," sighed Dorian.
Most Nazgul have to get all nasty and dead and ugly and shit by using rings. Dorian actually got his ring after he got all nasty and dead and ugly and shit.
NO MORE NAZGUL LANGUAGE FOR YOU!
"What are all those Nazgul neerching about?" wondered Aragorn, who had snuck over the river with the hobbits during the Nazgul's debate. Arwen suddenly sat up in front of him.
"ACK!" cried Aragorn, falling off the horse.
"Oh dear," said Arwen, pulling out a handkerchief and rubbing the blood off her mouth. "Did I startle you?" The cloth made squeaky noises on her skin, and she smiled sweetly.
"Uhmm...no, not at all!" said Aragorn, hopping to his feet and climbing back on the horse with her.
"Then we should go," said Glorfindel, and they all rode through the gates to Rivendell.
Meanwhile, in the not-so-real-as-you-may-think-because-you're-really-in-the-Matrix world, Celestina awoke. She looked over at the sloppy person dozing on the other end of the couch she was tied to, and gave a cry of dismay, because he, being unloved and fangirless, did not really come under her powers of Mary Sue stories.
However, since he was Johnny Depp, she had a feeling she might be able to manipulate him on some level.
"Don't bother," said MysticButtCrystal. "That's Mort's Couch of Depression and Degradation. Your magic will not work on it, and you're tied up."
"What sense does that make?" she cried indignantly. "And why doesn't he get off it?"
"What sense do you make?" asked Spoofmaster, entering the room with a drink.
"You people are horrible!" wailed Celestina. "All I tried to do was make your story better!"
"Our story's beyond hope, so shut your mouth," snapped MysticButtCrystal. "Hey, Mort, wake up."
The authors poked Mort with sticks until he complied.
"We think Mort wants to make you his sex slave," said MysticButtCrystal. "And you'd better do what he says, unless you want to end up in a steamin' bowl."
"NOOOOOOO!" screamed Celestina melodramatically, setting a true example to her followers. Pedro came in, slapped her upside the head for stealing his line, and left.