I awoke to the sound of chickens and a bucket of icy water being dumped on my head.

I sputtered as I attempted to get my bearings, all the while oddly wishing to resume my unusual romantic encounter.

Sometimes having a nightmare is preferable to awakening to crushing disappointment.

Although technically both, upon awakening, the full weight of my loneliness struck me like a blow.

A pale elven face frowned down at me.

Male.

Cruel irony.

I sat up, staring at my surroundings in confusion.

I had been placed in a pile of straw, surrounded by chicken cages, on the edge of a cobbled street. Across from me, a tavern called the Seven Stars.

Here and there, lay the bloody corpses, signs of more beasts causing ruin.

"What happened?" I groaned.

Legola smirked. "You hit your head."

"No," I corrected. "You hit my head."

He sighed. "It had to be done. One thing I have learned from the conflict over the master ring is how men behave when it is in their possession."

"Tis not the same."

"Tis close."

He drew a chain bearing the Colma Ettelea from within his tunic, waving it in front of me.

I blindly reached for it, attempting to tear it off his neck. "Mine! Give me back my precious ring!"

I covered my mouth in horror at what I had just said.

With a grim smile, the elf put the ring away.

"Perhaps you should keep that," I murmured. "Just for safekeeping."

He nodded, and I knew, with deep resentment, that he would never give it back.

"Gandalf!" the Hobbit cried as he leaned over me. "Guess what! I found the minstrels!"

He held aloft a little square jewel resembling the section of a woman's necklace, a box with grating covering its front. "Twas next to a dead priest."

He pushed something on the jewel, and the minstrels burst into song: "Celebrate good times, come on..."

"I think the beings from the sky have developed a way of capturing sound. I can't pretend to understand it, but I do think it operates in a way similar to clockwork music boxes, where a perforated drum turns pins within the machine to make successive sounds. What do you think?"

I took the jewel from his hand, studying the inscription on the side. "MP3."

"I couldn't read those strange looking runes. Is that really what it says?"

I nodded. "Magical Player Three, perhaps."

"Three times the Minstrel Power of its predecessor? Or is it Mithril Power Three?"

The device provided no further clues. It only sang, "We're going to have a good time tonight, a celebration..."

I dusted myself off and stood up. I would likely suffer a cold from the dampness and chill wind, but the sharp sting made me alert and aware of my surroundings.

King Aragorn stood a fair distance ahead, busily making purchases from a couple bold vendors in an otherwise desolate marketplace. Flowers and oranges, by the looks of it.

Radagast, being unfamiliar with how to behave in polite society, not-so-stealthily pilfered fruit from a display, munching an apple as he stuffed a pair of plumbs into the pockets of his tattered robe. Sticky juice splattered his long beard. The king muttered and pointing to him, handing a bald tattooed man some gold coins.

A bar wench came out a nearby door, and my embarrassment turned to mortification, as my hermit friend's first response was to squeeze the woman's immodestly clothed bosom like produce from a melon stand.

The woman of course slapped him. Aragorn and his aide just shook their heads and laughed.

I grabbed the clueless fellow, hurrying him away from there.

The structure of Minas Tirith resembled a giant swirling pastry. I'm unsure as to how the kings arrived at this architectural decision, but one had to walk in circles just to get to the royal palace. Odd and impractical. Tactically advantageous, perhaps, but not practical.

Nob thought it a good strategy for the architecture of a gambling establishment he'd been dreaming up.

It took us a few hours to reach our destination, through paved streets scattered with corpses, both human and demon, the people apparently too afraid to do burials.

Aragorn's home: A tall white castle at the center of this confounded maze. Its main gate, though barred at night, ordinarily remained open to the public, for the pillared outer areas were occupied with administrators, officials that supervised the minor courts and made decisions based on surveys and polls.

The creatures had made short work of them all. The man, dwarves, Orcs and elves lay sprawled in pools of their own blood, bodies torn asunder and half consumed.

Amidst these: More of the eggs, though all either smashed inward by weapons, burned, or otherwise unburdened of their contents days ago.

Aragorn, upon seeing the carnage, increased the pace of his march, shoving through a pair of massive doubled doors, doors now only guarded by the remains of armored soldiers.

The man hurried through his own throne room, its red carpet and stone flooring fouled by blood and gruesome carcasses, darting through an arcade to a once well guarded staircase leading to the queen's private quarters.

The woman certainly enjoyed luxurious accommodations. Fine wooden four poster bed with swollen silk comforters and pillows, gigantic wooden wardrobes and chests, and a great fireplace, though rather cold at the moment. A private bath lay through an open doorway. The large windows had been bolted tightly shut and sealed with something to keep out the cold.

The queen herself lay with her mouth hanging open, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A most beautiful, delicately featured elf, worthy of envy had she not been so ill.

Actually, I should say, had she not been so dead.

She made no moves, her skin cold. I felt no sign of life when I touched her neck.

Aragorn knelt beside her and wept. "I tried to save you! I brought Gandalf here! We were going to help you!"

He lifted the queen's dead body, clutching her tightly as he wept on her shoulder.

He let her go, rising to his feet. Wiped his eyes as he looked at me. "It tried so hard, Gandalf. If it wasn't for those accursed creatures, I really think we could have saved her."

"You did all you could."

"There is a sexually contracted disease among the elves," Legolas said. "None of our potions and spells seem to affect it. I'm afraid it may have killed your wife."

Aragorn gave him a cold glare. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing. I just recognized the symptoms."

Aragorn's shoulders sagged as he stared forlornly at the corpse.

"Some say this is the reason for the age old prohibition against elves getting romantically involved with humans."

Aragorn raised his head, eyes fixing on the elf with a look of pure hatred. "Get out of my sight."

Legolas, startled, failed to grasp the meaning of the man's words.

The king stabbed a finger in the direction of the door. "Out!" he screamed.

Skalg growled at him menacingly.

The elf, flustered, staggered backwards out the door, more out of courtesy than fear of the man.

"Your highness," Skalg said. "Please excuse my momentary absence. I must relieve myself."

Aragorn gave him a dismissive wave. The Orc stepped into the lady's bathroom, shutting the door.

"He certainly is a well behaved Orc," I remarked.

"Indeed."

He sighed, stroking his dead wife's hair. "Arwen..."

Without a sound, a massive black shape descended from the ceiling, looming over the king like a shadow.

A star demon, its body the size of two men put together.

"Your highness!"

Too late. If only Skalg had been present.

In one deft movement, its claws ripped Strider in half. The man screamed as blood sprayed on the silken bed, the purple curtains, sprinkling his dead wife's face.

"We should get out of here," Nob hissed, I couldn't help staring at the creature with an odd sense of longing, wondering if my dream had any substance.

I hated the creature. It had murdered my close friend and ally, and he hadn't even been allowed the chance to fight back.

But that glistening black head, eyeless and dripping slime...it evoked a response in my body I couldn't explain.

I stood frozen, staring at it as it hissed, appearing to stare back.

In a flash, the thing noiselessly crossed the bed, and it stood before me, making an odd purring sound as it tilted its head in a quizzical manner.

Perhaps I was suicidal. Perhaps that was the explanation.

Both Nob and Radagast tried to get me to go, even tugging the sleeves of my robe to attempt it by force, but I yanked my arm out of their grip, remaining where I was, gazing at the beast.

It moved its head closer, nuzzling against my neck.

With a small smile, I ran my hand across the creature's shiny head, caressing it.

"Gandalf! What are you doing!" Nob yelled. "Have you gone insane!"

"I think perhaps I have."

My two friends took this as their cue to leave.

The creature raised its head, pressing its lips to mine.