Chapter 7: Never Mind the Details

Somewhere in Ithilien

Ah, yes! Sam Gamdgee, who always had his priorities right, felt entirely vindicated for his decision to bring two "small" pans, each big enough to hold a whole rabbit, on a thousand mile hike. Never mind that they took up so much space in his pack that he had been obliged to go without insignificant commodities such as a blanket or a change of underpants. Here, just as he had anticipated, were two whole rabbits to be dealt with, and it would have been absolutely criminal to roast them over a fire.

"Sam, what about the fire?" said Frodo while they washed the dishes after their delightful dinner. "Did you put it out?"

"Um…"

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile in the Rohirric camp

So first Gandalf had been dreadfully worried about the incident with the palantir. There was a danger that people might actually question his competence and ask why he hadn't guarded it better, but he had manged to deflect from this issue very quickly and to cast a positive light on the whole wretched episode by explaining how useful it was to actually know what the connection between Orthanc and Barad-dûr had been, though, mind you, it would have actually been more useful to know this before the betrayal of Saruman and the total destruction of Orthanc, but still, and anyway, it was actually great that Pippin had looked into the stone, because otherwise perhaps he, Gandalf, could have looked into it, accidentally revealing himself to Sauron, since he had actually never considered that Sauron might have got his hands onto a magic trinket like that and actually –

"You say 'actually' way too often, Gandalf," Theoden pointed out.

"That's not actually true, Theoden, I only actually – oh."

"Never mind," butted in Aragorn in a valiant attempt to save the wizard's face. "This is actua– this is my Seeing Stone, what with me being King of Gondor and all, so hand it over, will you?"

"Of course, of course," muttered Gandalf, only marginally flustered.

"Not wanting to blow my own trumpet," said Aragorn after dinner, while Legolas passed round the little chocolates wrapped in gold foil, "but I did an extremely clever thing this afternoon. I revealed myself to Sauron in the palantir and challenged him to a telepathic tussle. Now he knows there's a king in Gondor again, which will make him attack Minas Tirith instantly and thus draw his forces away from Mordor and from Frodo. Am I a strategic genius or what?"

"Isn't that going to be a bit unpleasant for the poor people of Minas Tirith, though?" asked Theoden.

"Nah, they have me to defend them now," replied Aragorn with a regal shrug.

"But you are three hundred miles away from Minas Tirith."

"So I am, rats. You wouldn't happen to know of any shortcut?"

"Oh, that reminds me," piped up Elladan. "Dad says to tell you that there is a brilliant shortcut, but I'm supposed to be really ominous and portentous about it, so here goes…"

"Isn't that exactly the same distance?" asked Aragorn after the shortcut was explained.

"Probably, but it gives you a chance to be all kingy and destiny-ridden."

"Okay then."

oOoOoOo

Another day, another camp

"Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten us into, Sam," hissed Frodo.

"How was I to know that the fire would make so much smoke?" Sam hissed back.

Frodo cast him a withering look, then he turned his back on Sam and struck up an amicable conversation with their two guards, who introduced themselves as Mablung and Damrod. They were Rangers of Ithilien and they happily chatted away to their prisoners about their intended ambush of the Haradrim.

"And," said Frodo casually, "are you always so lackadaisical about your military secrets?"

"Oopsies…"

oOoOoOo

On a balcony overlooking the Plateau of Gorgoroth

The Mouth of Sauron rustled with the scroll and squinted into the distance.

"Well, your Darklordship, looking at this here map, it seems there is a road leading all the way up to the Cracks of Doom. Shouldn't that better be demolished?

"No, no."

"Why not?"

"In case I ever want to forge another ring. Something a little less plain, perhaps red gold and platinum, with an embossed pattern of flaming eyes, sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"But your Darklordship, what if our foes should attempt to destroy the Ring?"

"Really, Mouthy, I am sick and tired of your doomsday scenarios. Talk about Project Fear! It'll be the fault of premoaners like you if Brexit fails."

"Your Darklordship…?"

"The war, I mean the war. Now, let's take back control!"

oOoOoOo

One the road to Minas Tirth

Pippin clung on for dear life, trying not to think too much about the chafing in his nether regions. But eventually he couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Can we not take a break, Gandalf? I need a wee."

"Fool of a Took! We must warn the people of Gondor that Sauron will attack."

"Do they not have scouts and stuff? I mean, they can hardly believe that they're on cosy terms with their nasty neighbour, can they? They are well prepared, aren't they? What exactly are we going to tell them that will make them do anything differently?"

Gandalf pretended he hadn't heard.

"You know what would be a great invention?" said Pippin. "A method of encoding words into a series of long and short signals, and then stringing ropes between cities, and you could send a message just by giving long and short tugs to the rope. I'd call it 'distance writer' and it would come in really handy just now."

"Really, Pippin, the ideas you have. Nobody in all of Arda could devise such a thing."

"Ah, but they can make Seeing Stones – or 'distance viewers' as I would call them…"

Gandalf merely scoffed. Beneath him, the magic horse Shadowfax tried to hide his relief. Unthinkable, if anyone would take that hobbit's ideas seriously! It would completely scupper his, Shadowfax's, plans to establish a horse courier service between Gondor and Rohan. The Meara Express, he was going to call it, and to increase revenue he would hire out the hindquarters of the courier horses to be painted with advertising slogans. So many amazing messages that might be written on the butt of a horse…

oOoOoOo

Still at the Rangers' Hideout

"Who do you think you are, just butting in like that?" Faramir growled.

"A prisoner you've left unguarded, is what I am," replied Sam and parked his backside beside Frodo. "And I'll thank ye for not insinuating that my master has anything to do with your brother kicking the bucket, if you get my drift. I'm staying right here."

"Suit yourself. But I really want some answers. Why did your company travel on such perilous paths? Why did you attempt the most dangerous pass in the Misty Mountain, and then descend into an orc-infested hell hole and, is if that was not enough, then entrusted yourselves to the hippie queen's psychedelic lala land? Why did you go on foot, and why did you not come via Rohan?"

"Well…" Frodo blushed a little with embarrassment. "That's just what Boromir suggested, but…"

"But what?"

"But Gandalf thought it would be too dangerous."

"Oh, for the love of –" Faramir smacked the side of his head in exasperation. "All right, enough. Come along, I need to show you something."

He had his prisoners carefully blindfolded and led them to the mega-secret location, then proceeded to tell them exactly where this location was.

"Because, you know, I think I'm just going to trust you. Any friend of the wizard whose stupidity got my brother killed is a friend of mine…"

oOoOoOo

The next day in the Morgul Vale

"Well, gentlemen, this is it." The Witch King surveyed his troops with satisfaction. "We are going to war. Long enough have we waited. The time for speeches is over, the time for action is come. No longer shall we hide behind the mountains. We will march on the City of Men and we will…"

Three hours later

"…will be trampled into dust and all their houses reduced to rubble and all their window boxes smashed and their flower beds urinated on and –"

"Witchy!" Khamûl elbowed him in the ribs. "I think that's enough. The troops are getting restless, I mean, some of them have already asked to go to the toilet and we haven't even left yet. Anyway, I have the strangest feeling that we're not alone here."

"Of course we're not alone, we have a massive army sitting in front of us!"

"No, I mean someone else is here. My ear is itchy, and you know how I always get an itchy ear when there's some important detail that we're missing. It's almost as if the Ring was nearby."

"I'll give you an itchy ear in a minute if you don't shut up, Khamûl!" barked the Witch King, who didn't appreciate having his oratory orgasm interrupted. "All right then, let's go."

And forth they marched, out of the loathsome city of Minas Morgul straight towards Minas Tirith, and also straight past Frodo, who was cowering miserably behind a rock.

"Now here's a stroke of luck, Mister Frodo," whispered Sam when the grim host had passed.

"Hm." Frodo gazed down the road at the receding torches. "Yes, if there's one thing I've learnt by now, it's this: The only way useless heroes can win is if the villains are even uselesser."

"More useless, precious, more useless," muttered Gollum.