Disclaimer: LOTR is not owned by me.......yet.
Foreword: There is no singing in this chapter. Despite saying the contrary at the end of my last update. This is due to cut-backs and a lack of government funding. And terrorism.
The ring lay quiet in Frodo's pocket for most of the next day. He suspected it had something to do with its recent journey through Pippins digestive system. The ring had been demoralised. On his part, Frodo enjoyed this new silence but towards the end of the day he heard it sniggering from his pocket when he tripped on tuft of grass.
"Mr Frodo!", Sam dived and caught Frodo just before he fell.
"Careful there", warned Strider, who himself stumbled into a small thorn bush.
"Ah!", said the ranger, "Now everyone should watch closely"
By his tone, Frodo knew Strider was about to spew yet more advice on surviving the wilds.
"As you can see, this bush I'm currently in has thorns. An unwary traveller, not learned in the way of the wilds could come to harm in such a situation. However, as long as they remember the golden rule – to make one quick movement instead of slowly picking their way out, then they should get out with no ill effects."
Strider lunged forward. The hobbits heard a tearing sound and the ranger yelped.
Frodo rolled his eyes.
"How are you going to get your pants back?", asked Pippin.
Striders rough spun pants were now ripped in two. Half of them were lodged in thorns.
"Well...."
The hobbits noted he wore incredibly out of fashion dwarf Y-fronts. Inside out as they were, a red bearded dwarfs face could be seen, embroidered in the centre.
"Gimli wear", Merry commented to Frodo who nodded.
Gimli was a world famous dwarf said to have immense sex appeal. Even Elven Maidens lusted after him, and if the tales could be trusted he had even had an affair with Lady Galadriel. Frodo himself had owned a pair of Gimli brand thermal socks when he was young and Bilbo had a Gimli teapot. Of late though, the dwarf's popularity had waned. Frodo hadn't worn the socks in years, but it didn't surprise him that Strider still wore Gimli merchandise.
Later, after much cursing and scratches, Strider managed to retrieve his pants from the thorn bush. While they had been occupied with this no one had realised how dark it was getting. The last vestiges of day were sinking pinkly into the hills.
"I think we should set up camp", suggested Sam
Everyone agreed. "Come, I know a good place", said Strider knowingly, he slung his pants over his shoulders, he would have to sew them up later. The stars winked brightly in the night sky as Strider led them into circle of ruins.
"This was once the watchtower of.....um....well I can't remember the name now, how did it go?"
Whatever doubts Frodo had about Striders competency he had to admit these ruins were a good place to camp for the night.
"Ah! The watchtower of Ikilbob! That was the name. Yes they used to do some fine watching here. That was before the.... Um great war of course"
"Which war was that?", Asked Pippin, who was always curious.
"Did I say war? I meant wars. Yes, the great wars"
"Was the watchtower attacked then?", there was more than a hint of scepticism in Sam's voice.
".....Yes...by....um the.....Great Pig of Doom. Anyway, that's all in the past now. What we should concern ourselves with at the moment is mending my pants, can anyone sew?"
The hobbits shook their heads. However, seeing the despairing look on the rangers face, Frodo volunteered to give it a go.
"Great!", said Strider, "Now does anyone have any thread?"
Later that night Frodo awoke to find his mouth watering with the succulent smell of sausages, bacon and tomato. He sat fearfully bolt upright. Sam and the others were crowded around a camp fire. Strider had tied his torn trousers around his waist like a kilt.
"Don't worry Mr Frodo, I saved you some"
But hungry as Frodo was, he had a more urgent concern. What if those black riders saw the camp fire! He quickly berated the others on this.
"Don't worry", Pippin said happily, "Strider said the Nazgul don't have eyes"
"That's right!", the ranger reiterated, waving a forked sausage, "they hunt through their unnatural senses, not by their eyes"
Frodo resisted the urge to stamp out the camp fire there and then.
"So what you're saying is that those black riders are blind?"
"...............yes"
"Then why don't they go around bumping into things?"
Strider looked uncomfortable for a moment, then said, "Oh yeah"
But before the hobbits could distinguish the fire, nine long shadows spread out across the ground.
"Shit!", shouted five voices at once
"Oh dear", the ring chimed in
"Too Eassssssy", the lead Nazgul hissed
Amongst the panic, Strider was the first to gather his wits. This was probably down to his ranger training and survival experience in the wilds. Instinctively he ran away.
The nazgul drew their swords as one. Frodo turned to run, but hit his head on a jutting rock.
"Aaaaaah that really hurt!", he managed, before collapsing in a dazed heap.
The Nazgul advance upon Frodo was cut short when Sam leapt defensively in front of his master.
"Get back you devils!", he yelled.
It seemed to work. The Nazgul stepped backwards as one. They had battled Sam previous to this and knew to treat him with respect. Despite the brave hobbits weapon only being a frying pan the Nazgul spread out and approached cautiously. It was just as well. Sam's panmanship was second to none.
"Get em Sam!", shouted Merry, who had climbed up onto an over-hanging wall where he could survey the battle in safety.
"Yeah!", Pippin joined his friend and hurled a sausage. It spatted wetly on the one of the Nazguls cloaks and dribbled downwards in a fatty trail. The Nazgul in question hissed in annoyance, he already had several stains on his cloak, curtasy of a kitchen skirmish with Sam, back in Hobbiton.
Confidence boosted by his friends support, Sam was the the first to strike. His pan got under the guard of the nearest Nazgul and delivered a ringing impact to its faceless head. Other black cloaks advanced as one staggered away dazed. Swords clashed with pan in a flurry of sparks and Sam was forced to retreat a few steps. It looked bleak for a moment as the hobbit looked like he would be cornered against the wall, but Sam fought back furiously, taking two Nazgul down with an arching pan slash while he tripped another with a bit of fancy footwork. Merry and Pippin whooped. Spurred on by the moment Sam broke through the line of black cloaks and grabbed two fiery logs of wood.
"Its time to light up this party!", he said
One log flew straight into a Nazguls face, which by the sound it made, didn't like it very much. The second he swung caught another's cloak on fire.
One of the Nazgul raised it sword in the air. "Run awaaaaaay"
Next chapter: Arwen, Glorfindel, the real reason why Gandalf didn't turn up at Bree, Striders Y-fronts and the council of Elrond. No songs.
P.S Help fight the war on terror by reviewing this chapter.
Foreword: There is no singing in this chapter. Despite saying the contrary at the end of my last update. This is due to cut-backs and a lack of government funding. And terrorism.
The ring lay quiet in Frodo's pocket for most of the next day. He suspected it had something to do with its recent journey through Pippins digestive system. The ring had been demoralised. On his part, Frodo enjoyed this new silence but towards the end of the day he heard it sniggering from his pocket when he tripped on tuft of grass.
"Mr Frodo!", Sam dived and caught Frodo just before he fell.
"Careful there", warned Strider, who himself stumbled into a small thorn bush.
"Ah!", said the ranger, "Now everyone should watch closely"
By his tone, Frodo knew Strider was about to spew yet more advice on surviving the wilds.
"As you can see, this bush I'm currently in has thorns. An unwary traveller, not learned in the way of the wilds could come to harm in such a situation. However, as long as they remember the golden rule – to make one quick movement instead of slowly picking their way out, then they should get out with no ill effects."
Strider lunged forward. The hobbits heard a tearing sound and the ranger yelped.
Frodo rolled his eyes.
"How are you going to get your pants back?", asked Pippin.
Striders rough spun pants were now ripped in two. Half of them were lodged in thorns.
"Well...."
The hobbits noted he wore incredibly out of fashion dwarf Y-fronts. Inside out as they were, a red bearded dwarfs face could be seen, embroidered in the centre.
"Gimli wear", Merry commented to Frodo who nodded.
Gimli was a world famous dwarf said to have immense sex appeal. Even Elven Maidens lusted after him, and if the tales could be trusted he had even had an affair with Lady Galadriel. Frodo himself had owned a pair of Gimli brand thermal socks when he was young and Bilbo had a Gimli teapot. Of late though, the dwarf's popularity had waned. Frodo hadn't worn the socks in years, but it didn't surprise him that Strider still wore Gimli merchandise.
Later, after much cursing and scratches, Strider managed to retrieve his pants from the thorn bush. While they had been occupied with this no one had realised how dark it was getting. The last vestiges of day were sinking pinkly into the hills.
"I think we should set up camp", suggested Sam
Everyone agreed. "Come, I know a good place", said Strider knowingly, he slung his pants over his shoulders, he would have to sew them up later. The stars winked brightly in the night sky as Strider led them into circle of ruins.
"This was once the watchtower of.....um....well I can't remember the name now, how did it go?"
Whatever doubts Frodo had about Striders competency he had to admit these ruins were a good place to camp for the night.
"Ah! The watchtower of Ikilbob! That was the name. Yes they used to do some fine watching here. That was before the.... Um great war of course"
"Which war was that?", Asked Pippin, who was always curious.
"Did I say war? I meant wars. Yes, the great wars"
"Was the watchtower attacked then?", there was more than a hint of scepticism in Sam's voice.
".....Yes...by....um the.....Great Pig of Doom. Anyway, that's all in the past now. What we should concern ourselves with at the moment is mending my pants, can anyone sew?"
The hobbits shook their heads. However, seeing the despairing look on the rangers face, Frodo volunteered to give it a go.
"Great!", said Strider, "Now does anyone have any thread?"
Later that night Frodo awoke to find his mouth watering with the succulent smell of sausages, bacon and tomato. He sat fearfully bolt upright. Sam and the others were crowded around a camp fire. Strider had tied his torn trousers around his waist like a kilt.
"Don't worry Mr Frodo, I saved you some"
But hungry as Frodo was, he had a more urgent concern. What if those black riders saw the camp fire! He quickly berated the others on this.
"Don't worry", Pippin said happily, "Strider said the Nazgul don't have eyes"
"That's right!", the ranger reiterated, waving a forked sausage, "they hunt through their unnatural senses, not by their eyes"
Frodo resisted the urge to stamp out the camp fire there and then.
"So what you're saying is that those black riders are blind?"
"...............yes"
"Then why don't they go around bumping into things?"
Strider looked uncomfortable for a moment, then said, "Oh yeah"
But before the hobbits could distinguish the fire, nine long shadows spread out across the ground.
"Shit!", shouted five voices at once
"Oh dear", the ring chimed in
"Too Eassssssy", the lead Nazgul hissed
Amongst the panic, Strider was the first to gather his wits. This was probably down to his ranger training and survival experience in the wilds. Instinctively he ran away.
The nazgul drew their swords as one. Frodo turned to run, but hit his head on a jutting rock.
"Aaaaaah that really hurt!", he managed, before collapsing in a dazed heap.
The Nazgul advance upon Frodo was cut short when Sam leapt defensively in front of his master.
"Get back you devils!", he yelled.
It seemed to work. The Nazgul stepped backwards as one. They had battled Sam previous to this and knew to treat him with respect. Despite the brave hobbits weapon only being a frying pan the Nazgul spread out and approached cautiously. It was just as well. Sam's panmanship was second to none.
"Get em Sam!", shouted Merry, who had climbed up onto an over-hanging wall where he could survey the battle in safety.
"Yeah!", Pippin joined his friend and hurled a sausage. It spatted wetly on the one of the Nazguls cloaks and dribbled downwards in a fatty trail. The Nazgul in question hissed in annoyance, he already had several stains on his cloak, curtasy of a kitchen skirmish with Sam, back in Hobbiton.
Confidence boosted by his friends support, Sam was the the first to strike. His pan got under the guard of the nearest Nazgul and delivered a ringing impact to its faceless head. Other black cloaks advanced as one staggered away dazed. Swords clashed with pan in a flurry of sparks and Sam was forced to retreat a few steps. It looked bleak for a moment as the hobbit looked like he would be cornered against the wall, but Sam fought back furiously, taking two Nazgul down with an arching pan slash while he tripped another with a bit of fancy footwork. Merry and Pippin whooped. Spurred on by the moment Sam broke through the line of black cloaks and grabbed two fiery logs of wood.
"Its time to light up this party!", he said
One log flew straight into a Nazguls face, which by the sound it made, didn't like it very much. The second he swung caught another's cloak on fire.
One of the Nazgul raised it sword in the air. "Run awaaaaaay"
Next chapter: Arwen, Glorfindel, the real reason why Gandalf didn't turn up at Bree, Striders Y-fronts and the council of Elrond. No songs.
P.S Help fight the war on terror by reviewing this chapter.