Number Nine was lost.

He hadn't meant to get lost, of course. These things just seemed to happen. He had gotten the idea of cutting through Rohan, in order to get a horse, in order to avoid walking, in order to avoid hurting his feet, in order to avoid tripping, in order to avoid being laughed at by near by ground hogs (again!), in order to carry out Number One's orders. But the only map the Ringwraith's possessed was a treasure map of a desert island they got off a pirate once. And as exciting as it was to go treasure hunting, it really didn't apply to the situation at hand (that and the fact that Number Nine had given up looking for the giant "X" the map spoke of).

In his wanderings, Nine had, in fact, wound up nearby the Emyn Muil, which had no horses at all. It had very little of any thing, in fact, except rocks. That's because this is where the Middle Earth Rock Collectors Guild met every year to discuss the rocks they had found. But they never seemed to clean up after themselves, and always left the rocks behind after the convention. And since the convention was held last September, it was very unlikely that Number Nine was going to run into any one.

So you can imagine his surprise when he ran into three midgets.

It was an odd looking group, to be sure. One of them was very fair, and looked dead tired; the other was a fairly plump, shrewd looking fellow; and the last was an unbelievably skinny fellow with very little hair. On top of that, they were remarkably small. Still, as Nine observed, it wasn't very nice to make fun of those with physical oddities (heck, Nine didn't even have a face!) so he decided to greet them with the traditional, "Hello."

The poor things were obviously socially inept. In polite society, gaping wide eyed and planting your face in the ground (as the skinny one was doing) was not deemed acceptable. Nine decided to try again. "Nice weather we've been having lately."

The tired looking one (who seemed to have something wrong with his shoulder; he was always clutching it) recovered first. "Uh, uh, yep, very good weather, yep…" he stammered.

Now that he had made contact, Nine inquired, "So, uh, what are you fellows doing in these parts?"

The tired one scratched his fore head. "Why, we're, uh… from the Mordor Morale Effort! We're, er, going to go and provide entertainment for our brave, uh, orcs from home."

Number Nine nodded (or at least, his hood bobbed up and down). "That's very good of you. Say, while I'm here, can I hear a song from you guys?"

The tired one stumbled. "A song?" he said, in a tone that sounded suspiciously like panic. "A song, you say? Um, well, yes, of course! Give the good man a song, uh, Gamwise Samgee," he said as he prodded his plump looking partner.

The fat one, looking startled, coughed quietly, put his hands behind his back as if he was reciting poetry, and began his song:

Oh, we ain't Hobbits, nosiree

Just harmless travellers wandering free

And we certainly ain't planning the downfall

Of the Dark Lord, nope, not at all

And we certainly don't have the One Ring

Because it's a very dangerous thing

And we're not going to throw it in the fire

So please don't kill us, Mr. Black Rider!

The tired one clutched his fore head and shook it, but Number Nine thought it was rather good. "Well, that certainly was very nice! But I really must be…" he trailed off as he looked at the skinny one cowering in the dirt. "Wait a minute," he said, as he picked up the creature by the neck, "I remember you! You're that thing we captured a while back, Rollum, or something like that."

The creature hissed. "No, no, he is mistaken, Black Rider is! We never seen him before, have we, Precious?"

Number Nine shook him. "Don't lie! We let you out for a purpose! You said you knew a great bakery that made the best cheese cake around, and if we let you out, you'd bring us back some! Well? Where is it!"

"Gollum! All out of cheese cake, they were! We thought we'd pick up some bran muffins instead, at other bakery!"

"What! You know we hate bran!" Number Nine threw the creature to ground. "That does, time to your best Swiss cheese impression!" he said as he drew his sword.

"No, wait!" the tired one shouted. "You can't do that!"

"Why on Middle Earth not?" Number Nine queried.

"Because, uh, he has a wonderful singing voice! And if you kill him, no one will be able to sing the soprano notes!"

Nine put his sword back in his scabbard. "That sounds reasonable, I suppose," he said, as he walked off in what he desperately hoped was the direction to Rohan. "Well, I'm off then. I was going to try and pass of a ring on you guys, but I see you have one already," he said, indicating the one around the tired one's neck.

The tired midget fingered his ring. "Yes, yes, I already have this totally unremarkable, not-at-all powerful ring."

"Yes, it looks very nice."

"Why thank you."

"Can I see it?"

"My, my, look at the time! I'm afraid we must be off!" And with that, the trio bolted out of sight.