You Shall Not Pass

"Did you know my dad tried becoming a professional singer once?" Legolas told the tree he was still living in. "It was awful. He recorded an album and everything, titled Nature Funk Beats or something ridiculous like that. He even called himself Thranny-D. It was humiliating!"

A breeze rustled a few leaves on the branch Legolas leaned against.

"Yeah, it was horrible beyond belief," Legolas continued. "Luckily Thranny-D's musical career didn't last very long because nobody bought his albums, so he went back to being Thranduil and drank more elven wine than ever. I tried sending him to therapy a few months after that. Have I told you that story? Anyway, therapy didn't work out because he tried turning every therapy session into a party. He even invited some neighbors and snuck a few kegs into his therapist's office!"

Legolas hung his head and sighed. "It's a good thing I've got the forest as my alternate family. I can always count on you to behave rationally, my leafy friend."

"Legolas, I dearly hope you aren't talking to that tree," said a voice down below. "If you are, then I'm going to have to ask you to stop."

Legolas looked down and found Galadriel standing at the base of the tree, holding a stack of papers in her hand while she gazed up at him coolly. "Galadriel, what are you doing here? And what are those papers for? Have you finally decided to spread the cause of tree rights?"

"No, of course not, you foolish elf," said Galadriel. "Celeborn has gone missing. I created some flyers and have been posting them all over the neighborhood." She held up a flyer, which portrayed a picture of Celeborn with the word "Missing" written above it. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well then. I suppose I'll have to carry on with my task."

"Wait," said Legolas, looking down at Galadriel in horror. "You aren't about to do what I think you're about to do, are you?"

"I don't know, Legolas. What exactly am I about to do?"

"You're going to put that flier onto this poor tree's tender bark! Galadriel, how could you? You're an elf! You of all people ought to understand that trees aren't like lamp posts or walls or other objects. They are living things, Galadriel, and they don't appreciate it when you try to plaster papers all over them!"

"I don't see how you can possibly stop me," Galadriel said calmly. "You're all the way in those branches, while I'm all the way down here, about to post this flier onto your tree's tender bark."

"Don't you dare, Galadriel! Don't you touch the delicate bark of this tree!"

"I'd like to see you try and stop me."

Legolas sat there in the branches, his eyes wide as he gazed at the flyer in Galadriel's hand. "Don't you dare," he repeated feebly.

"I'm going to do it," Galadriel warned.

She moved the flyer close to the trunk of the tree, but before she could post it onto the bark itself, Legolas leaped from the branches and launched himself at her, knocking the entire stack of flyers from her hands. "I told you not to do it," he said dangerously, standing above Galadriel with his hands on his hips.

Galadriel lay in an undignified heap on the ground, surrounded by scattered papers. "I will get you for this, Greenleaf," she warned.

But Legolas wasn't listening. He was on a new mission to cleanse the neighborhood trees of all paper products and other horrible forms of graffiti, and he wouldn't rest until he had saved every poor tree in the vicinity.

"Dad probably forgot all about that tree I was living in anyway," he told himself. "He forgot my own name for a whole week, after all."

After he pulled flyers off of all the neighborhood trees and held his nature hike, it would be time for a serious Daddy Issues meeting.

Frodo still wasn't used to sunshine. Yesterday's veggie party at Faramir's house was the first time he had ventured into the daylight in weeks, and as he walked outside his apartment he wished he had brought an umbrella, or perhaps a plastic tinted bubble, to shield himself with.

"I can do this," Frodo muttered to himself. "I can survive the outdoors!"

Riding the bus, however, was completely out of the question. Last time he tried riding a bus, he broke out in hives and Sam had to stay at his bedside for several days to make sure he didn't have a nervous breakdown. No, instead Frodo would walk to his destination, which thankfully wasn't too far.

Yesterday at the party, Pippin gave him the address of an elf named Arwen who wanted his autograph, and Frodo willingly scribbled his signature on a napkin he found next to Faramir's strawberry bowl. The old Frodo would have begged Pippin to deliver the autograph to Arwen, but he had transformed himself into the New-and-Improved Frodo, and the New-and-Improved Frodo was bold enough to go anywhere, except for shady gas station stores and The Dollar Cave, of course. There were some strange dwarves who shopped at The Dollar Cave.

Fortunately the walk was not far, though Frodo began to regret his decision when he reached Arwen's house. The property was completely surrounded by a high black fence with an intimidating gate at the entrance, and to top it all off there were video cameras at every corner, watching Frodo's every move. What kind of house was this? Wishing that Sam didn't have an extra long shift at Wal-Mart that day, Frodo nervously approached the gate and could have sworn he saw a couple of black-suited figures lurking amongst the shrubbery up ahead.

"Um, hello?" said Frodo.

The camera perched next to the gate swiveled around to point at Frodo, and a voice came from an unseen intercom. "Who dares to tread upon my property?"

"Uh, it's just me," said Frodo. "The pizza delivery guy. Did anyone order a large pepperoni?"

"Frodo Baggins," said the voice, which sounded terribly familiar. "I hope you have that manuscript finished. I would hate to see you get whacked by one of my... associates."

Frodo was filled with dread as he realized that familiar voice belonged to Elrond, his editor. "Heh. Sure thing, sir. I've got the manuscript at home and I'll bring it to you in about an hour. Is there an elf named Arwen here, by any chance?"

"Arwen is my daughter," Elrond's voice said coldly. The dark-suited figures lurking in the bushes pulled out black objects that looked suspiciously like handguns. "What is your business with her?"

"I just want to give her my autograph!" said Frodo, trembling with fear. "I don't mean any harm!"

"Very well. You get ten minutes, tops."

The gate swung open and the black-suited figures, who Frodo suspected were Elvish gangsters thirsting for his blood, retreated behind the shrubbery. "Well I've gotten myself into a fine pickle and no mistake, as dear Sam would say," Frodo said to himself with a sigh. He trotted up the long driveway with his eyes alert, terrified that one of the gangsters would get trigger-happy and decide he wanted a hobbit head mounted on his wall, and as soon as he reached the door he slipped inside at the speed of light.

"What would Bilbo say if he could see me now?" Frodo murmured. "I wonder where he is."

Meanwhile, Bilbo continued to sail upon Cirdan's mighty ship, the Grey Haven, and was having a swashbuckling good time as he swabbed the deck, hoisted the mainsail, and drank large quantities of rum while dancing a sailor's jig. "Yo ho, yo ho, an Elvish life for me!" Bilbo sang feebly as he tottered about the deck, hardly able to keep upright as the Grey Haven sailed through a mass of waves.

"Ahoy, matey!" Cirdan shouted. He pulled out his trusty spyglass and peered out into the ocean. "Thar be black sails up ahead! A ship is nigh upon us!"

"Black sails, my dear lad?" Bilbo croaked, squinting at the sea with his elderly eyes.

"Aye! A ship with black sails!"

"Oh dear, oh dear. And I assume it is crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil, Hell itself spat him back out?"

Cirdan put down his spyglass and scratched his luxuriant beard. "Perhaps so, matey. Perhaps so! Prepare the cannons and sharpen yer cutlass! The day any scurvy dogs take the Grey Haven is the day me beard falls out, I tell ye. Arr!"

"Yes, Frodo my lad," Bilbo mumbled absently. "Don't want any scurvy dogs in the garden, now do we? They'll get into the first of the mushroom crops!"

Cirdan ignored his senile first mate and decided to knock back a bottle of rum.

Legolas was strolling to Wal-Mart, whistling a tune to himself under his breath, when he came across a particularly beautiful tree. The only problem with this fine looking tree was the large and conspicuous flier taped to its bark, cutting off the poor tree's circulation. "Save the giant eagles?" Legolas cried, reading the words on the flier. "What is this nonsense?" He ripped the flier down and made sure to carefully recycle it, since Legolas was the last person on earth who would dare to throw a piece of paper into the trash. Paper was made from trees, after all!

Determined to take serious action in the name of trees everywhere, Legolas strode past the men, hobbits, and dwarves (gender unknown, as always, considering those pesky beards) who filled Wal-Mart's parking lot and hurried to the garden section, where his fellow nature lover Samwise Gamgee could be found. Sam's face lit up the moment he saw Legolas and he waved a cheerful hand in greeting. "Welcome to Wal-Mart, Mr. Lego—"

"The way is shut," Eomer growled at Legolas, interrupting Sam. "It was made by those who are security guards. And the guards keep it. The way is shut!"

Legolas blinked at Eomer. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I cannnot allow your suspicious pointy-eared self to cross this threshold."

"But you've checked my ID before! Don't you remember?"

Eomer paused, gazing hard at Legolas with intense eyes. "Of course I remember, but someone who is perfectly innocent one day can be a dangerous threat the next. I take my job very seriously, Elf Boy."

"Perhaps a little too seriously," Legolas muttered.

"I heard that!" Eomer barked. "I'll have you know that I was hall monitor when I was in school, and I was the best hall monitor that place had ever seen. Some of the kids were in tears after I demanded to see their hall passes. In tears!"

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Eomer sir, but Legolas here is a friend of mine," said Sam. "And I know it ain't my place to say, but I think it's mighty unfair of you to—"

But Sam's words were useless, since Eomer was quickly distracted by a hobbit who tried to walk in with a suspicious amount of mushrooms stuffed in his pockets. "Wal-Mart will not avail you!" Eomer told the hobbit. "YOU... SHALL NOT... PASS!"

The poor hobbit wiped tears from his eyes and scurried back out to the parking lot.

"You see, Elf Boy?" Eomer said smugly. "I'm so serious about my job, they ought to make me king of the security guards."

Legolas, who had previously viewed Eomer with a mixture of confusion and pity, suddenly gazed upon him in awe. "You know, you're a very persuasive person, Eomer. So persuasive, in fact, that you're actually the kind of person I need on my Save the Trees campaign! How would you like to come on my nature hike tomorrow?"

"Save the Trees?" Eomer echoed, raising a disdainful eyebrow. "Why should I help save some meager plant life when there are poor horses out there who are starving? Have you ever considered the feelings and well-beings of those noble steeds? Horses are people too!"

"Yes, well there are many under-appreciated trees that provide apples for your beloved horses to eat," Legolas shot back. "And if we don't save the trees, then those starving horses will continue to go hungry!"

"Then consider me your ally," said Eomer, holding out a hand for Legolas to shake.

"It's a deal." Legolas shook hands with Eomer, but soon began wincing in pain due to Eomer's crushing grip. "Ouch! Do you have to grab my hand so hard?"

"Oops. Sorry." Eomer released Legolas' hand. "So who's gonna be at this treehugging shindig of yours anyway?"

"I'll be there, Mr. Eomer," said Sam. "And so will that peculiar ol' Tom Bombadil. I've got a spare set of earplugs you can borrow if he gets too tiresome. Oh, and Mr. Faramir will be on the hike too, bein' a vegetarian and all. Say, why don't you invite your sister along, Mr. Eomer? Then we'll have an even number!"

Eomer gruffly agreed to invite his sister, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself roped into.