NOTE: Earlier (and later) chapters of this parody can be found through the E-text site maintained by Steuard Jensen. Also, apologies to Zarf - anyone interested in knowing where the title (and some of the jokes) in this chapter derive from, check this page out.
It seemed to Frodo that he had slept while long years were measured by the wheeling stars above them - but in truth only a few hours passed before Dr. Faramir came back. In record time he had gathered many men who had come with him; indeed the entire scientific establishment --scientists, professors and student body-- of all the universities in Eastern Gondor™ had seemed to gather for the occasion. They sat on the hill and grasses, in a huge amphitheatre while Dr. Faramir was pointing with a ruler at the standing figures of Sam and Spiegel. It looked strangely like a classroom's show-and-tell: and Frodo wondered why he was let aside.
It soon became obvious that the students were not satisfied with Dr. Faramir's account of the hobbits at several points: Their migratory patterns, their reproductive rituals - not to mention their feeding habits and height averages.
"But it was at the waking of Isildur's shame that the midgets would be standing low!" a fellow Professor, Dr Imrahil, insisted. "If these are the so-called midgets known as les Americains, then they must be able to adjust their height, or atleast do so since the household of the round one. Do you deny it?"
"The Bourgeoisie indeed has a knack for greatly expanding their width at the workers' expense, and that's a fact. But not their height." spoke up Sam. We'll have to adjust it for them, he thought. He had a vision of heads, many heads rolling, and then all the clouds parted and at his command the whole of the Shire became a garden of cut-off heads. He only had to pick up a handy axe...
But Dr. Imrahil interrupted his daydreaming. "There are other things I'd like to learn from you, for all that concern Isildur concern me closely and yet the matter of Isildur's Shame still remains unresolved. Embarrasing things Isildur did a-plenty, and knowledge of any one of them would not be a sign of doom. Whatever was that thing you brought it before the council and there it was seen and Isildur's shame proven - is that no so? It is hidden you say, but is that not a feeble attempt at blackmail?"
"Well, now that you mention it..." answered Sam, but at Dr. Faramir's look he quickly changed his answer: "Nay, it is not ours to reveal. The Shame does not belong to any mortal, and certainly not me or you; therefore you have nothing to fear. If it can be claimed by anyone it is by Aragon, son of Arathon, son of Aradud, son of Arabarf leader of our Fellowship from Moira onwards. Your complaints to him."
"Why him, and not Dr. Faramir, head of the University of Gondor™ which Isildur's sons founded?"
"Because Aragon had a Veriseal-approved document -- oh, you mean the Shame. Because he claims to be descendant of Elendil, Isildur's son. And he has even had the sword of Elendil reforged and improved."
A murmur of scientific dismay ran through all the student body. "The sword of Elendil reforged and improved! Horror of horrors! What will comes next? Should we install drainpipes in the Great Pyramid of Pelargir? Improve the frown of the Minnie Pizza? What a grievous loss to archaeology."
But Dr. Faramir interrupted now, and he seemed unmoved. "Maybe. But the 'reforging' of such a sword could easily be used as an excuse to remove all evidence of its authenticity. I suspect a case of fraud -- clear proof shall be required of this sword's origin should this Aragon come to Minas Tirith™. We'll have to carbon-date it before we decide whether we'll hang him for desecration of one of our nation's artifacts -- or give him the chair for heir-to-the-throne impersonation. Class dismissed!"
The students dispersed, and so did all the professors other than Dr. Faramir who seemed thoughtful. Frodo approached the group, and Sam stared defiantly at the man. "Well, are you satisfied, Faramir? I did the best I could." he said in a hushed voice.
"Of course you did!" Dr. Faramir said and smiled. "You are great at deception - of all sorts." he went on with a sideways glance at Frodo which made Sam very uncomfortable. "But you could not hide from them the fact that you three bear a burden other than Frodo's foot-fungus. The misdirection was necessary I fear - and the revelation of the Sword will help cloak your other secrets.
"But there are other matters I want to learn from you now - which makes me happy that you have finally woken up, Frodo. You spoke of Boromir™ a little while ago. Were you a friend of his?"
Vividly before Frodo's mind the memory of Boromir™ (handsome rugged looks and all) bending over him with his vile attentions - or stabbing him with his mighty sword: and for a moment he hesitated. Dr Faramir's looks hardened. "No," Frodo sighed, "and more's the pity."
"Then you wouldn't care at all if you learned that he was gay?"
"Indeed I would no--" Frodo said and then his startled mind caught up with his (somewhat pointy) ears. "Gay?" he said. "Do you mean that he is gay, and that he never cared to tell me? How do you know? Did I lose all chance to a potential relationship? Or are you now trying to trap me with a falsehood?"
"I would not snare even an orc-- oh, what the hell, of course I would, and my colleagues and students also, if it was for a good cause. But I'm not lying now."
"But he never mentioned this to me. Why did he not offer himself to me, not even when I was using my charms all over Rivendell? Surely there must be a reason?"
"Or indeed many." said Dr. Faramir, "and ugliness not the most important."
Sam had been getting more and more impatient and angry at this conversation. "Begging your pardon," he said, "but this has gone on long enough! See here, Doctor! What are you driving at? Has the Magic Kingdom™ of Gondor™ fallen so low that it need repeat the same joke over and over again? Noone cares about their sexual preferences, and that's a fact. "
"Patience!" said Dr. Faramir. "Your wit may be a greater than that of your master, but you don't need to teach me about our peril: the death-blow of the lame joke. Were I as hasty as you I'd have killed you all long ago - and then proceeded to torch down Minas Mickey and pretty much all the rest of the Magic Kingdom of Gondor™ as well. "
Sam sat down heavily, and Dr. Faramir turned to Frodo again. "You asked how I know these things. We kept little hidden from one another. Similarity in names means kinship 'tis said. And we two had four letters in common: He was my brother."
A shadow of sorrow passed over his face and Sam and Spiegel exchanged looks (though Frodo remained oblivious as ever). "We observe, Doctor," Sam said "that with great care you say was and kept. What about the present tense? Do you think him dead?"
"Well, it certainly wasn't a mistake in grammar!" Dr. Faramir snapped at them, then he turned towards Frodo again. "Do you remember anything of special mark that Boromir™ carried with him?"
Frodo stuttered for a while, wondering how this interrogation would turn. How he would fare among so many men, (oh my, how many men!) warlike and strong, he did not know, and it filled him both with hope and fears of inadequacy. Yet he felt in his heart that Dr. Faramir at least was a man both less interested in sex and straight.
"Boromir™ used to have a horn."
"Oh, that - yes, he used to drink from it, and its sound was his weapon of choice. I meant something else."
"A sword that he filed on rocks? A red shirt with big black concentric circles and an 'aim here' sign? Hair that turned from black to blonde depending on the medium?"
"Yes, yes and yes." said Dr. Faramir, now becoming impatient. "But, something else..."
Frodo thought deeper - and suddenly it came to him: the one thing that was the symbol of the whole of Gondor™; the one thing which was both sewn into their flags and carved in their trees.
"I remember that Boromir™ had a trademark sign."
"You remember well, and as one who has in truth seen him, " said Faramir. "Maybe you can see it in your mind. The letter T followed by the letter M, either elevated in superscript or bound in parentheses. That trademark does the ruler and heir of the realm hold for many generations now -- and it said that there's no fan or satirist which will not quail at its use."
"But even the mightiest corporation may succumb to an amateur humorist;" said Sam. "and I fear that Boromir™ was struck down by many. Yet this does not explain how you know of his death."
"I sat at night by the solemn waters of Anduin in the grey dark under the young pale moon, evermoving stream, near the rustling sad reeds; watching the anthroporphisms in the narrative. But my mask may have been flawed or the fumes thicker than usual - for I had a vision: I saw, or it seemed that I saw, a raft floating on the water.
"An awe fell on me, for the raft seemed to defy all physical law in that it should sink like a stone to the bottom of the river - and yet not only didn't it do that, but there was a man tied upon it. And then the raft turned towards me, and started to fall apart within my reach and yet I dared not touch it, lest my hands contaminate the sample."
"The man was Boromir™, my brother, and as cranky as a newly awakened Balrog which hasn't yet drank its morning coffee. I knew his face, his voice, his stench. One thing only was changed - for his warhorn was different and all in golden. Boromir! I cried for we never used trademarks in familiar speech. Why is thy bronze horn golden? Hast thou discovered the secrets of alchemy? O Boromir! But he only yelled Untie me, you daydreaming fool of a brother! and he was gone... The raft moved downwards the stream and Boromir™ cried Oh, no, not *another* waterfall and tumbled into the turbulent waters. And I do not doubt that if he's still alive, then he'll have to find out a pretty far-fetched way to explain it."
"Alas!" lied Frodo, yet his smirk could not be hidden. "That was indeed Boromir™, as I knew him. Not biblically, mind you. The Golden Warhorn of Summoning was given to him in Lothlorien by the Lady Galadriel."
"So then you passed through the Land of Lorien! Long it has lain beyond the knowledge of all except the most experienced golf-players - and yet I suspect it plays a role in the drug operations of the Voice - or the 'Master' as he desires us to call him. Much that was strange about him I've slowly began to understand. That guy is NOT an incarnation of Eru!" he said, yet they perceived not his meaning. He fell silent for a long while.
"But the tale is such," Dr. Faramir said again in the end, speaking again softly. "that it will undoubtedly fill you with grief and fear. Almost it makes me want to let you go, out of sympathy for your loss. For unless all in your party were slain or captured, how would Orcs or servant of the Nameless find the time to tie Boromir™ down for such torment? I fear that none in your company still live."
"But even though I don't yet know for sure what happened on the North Marsh, you, Frodo, I'm certain about. I've not earned a degree in criminal psychology for nothing! There is something about you, Frodo, a fairy air, perhaps, not that there's anything wrong about that. Yet more lies hidden (and you hide more lies) in your words and in your possessions than I had first thought. I should inject you with truth serum and have you strip-searched.
"But we don't have time for that here. We must move hence without more delay." He sprang to his feet and called for Ramrod and Blacklung. "We'll be going to a secret place that we have. It's a beautiful place and well worth a visit - even though it has failed as a commercial venture. In the morning I will decide what is to be done about you."
They set out at once: Ramrod and Blacklung ahead, with Frodo, Sam and Spiegel behind. While they walked, Dr. Faramir talked to them with an even more hushed voice than earlier.
"Earlier on I was careless and repeated what in his folly Frodo revealed - in front of my soldiers to boot! That is the reason I had you, Sam, turn to the matter of Aragon and Isildur's Sword - which my soldier were also bound to have noticed more. Frodo is way too frank for such a job. Or stupid."
"Would it help if I say it was all a bunch of lies?" said Frodo.
"Hah! I do not blame you for trying to cover up for your lack of skill and wisdom in a hard matter. Yet few would instantly recognize the thing that you spoke of - we of the house of the Stewards ("Steuards" that was once in the ancient tongue) have much knowledge and preserve much ancient lore that even in academic circles it isn't found. For we reckon our line to Mardil™ the good Steuard who built our first university once he found the opportunity to send King Eisner away to China. And he was the last King and had no legitimate child. An alliance between the universities and the entertainment industry has governed the city since that day.
"And this I remember from Boromir™ as a boy when we were first taught the laws of science and of commerce -- that it always displeased him that the heads and heirs of the noble houses ought now to have either a trademark or a Ph.D. 'How many years need pass for a copyright to expire?' he asked. 'Seventy years after the author's death or a hundred after publication, for other places of more reasonable laws. But for the Magic Kingdom™ not even a billion trillion years would suffice.' Does that not tell you anything?"
Frodo thought. "About Gondor™'s practices? Yes, indeed. But Boromir™ accepted Aragon's Veriseal contract."
"I don't doubt it. He obeyed the laws even when they displeased him. But the pinch had not yet come: Aragon had not tried to trademark yet his name or create his own copyright laws."
"But once again I stray: We in the house of Denethor™ know much in both scientific and financial matters. Books and tablets, battery-powered lanterns and swords guaranteed to break immortal wills, microscopes and nuclear generators. Few understand these things nowadays- alas for the lowered standards in public education. It was these things that brought the Dirty Pilgrim to us - and yet he spoke to us about other lands in the North, so far more advanced than ours that they even have *umbrellas*."
Dr. Faramir sighed and his eyes took a far-away look. "What a wonder these lands must be! All things must be great there, and scientists held to a great respect!"
Sam coughed nervously. "The Dirty Pilgrim?" asked Frodo. "Did he have a name?"
"Masterly Wonderful One he wanted us to call him, " said Dr. Faramir, "or he wouldn't be content. But many are the names that I have been given, and even more the epithets, he said. Mesprendeur among the elves, and Wandy-elf in the Eddas; Olorin in the West in my youth best left forgotten, Mayanus in the South (which becomes Mayonnaise in the Gnomish dialect), Gandalf in the North, 'That Crazy Pyromaniac' in the forests--"
"I think we get the picture." said Frodo.
"-- 'Your Finger, You Fool' in the lost kingdom of Australia, and Gandolf as the rustics name me, or 'Panoramix' in the noble tongue or Olrrn?whthfckdsthtIstrthn^kheis?! to those who can pronounce somewhat the Valinorean..."
"--thfckdsthtIstrth^nkheis?! yes. It's in the Zarfian dialect. But my real name is constantly growing, for I've lived a very long time, and my name is a story that would tell you all the things I've done or are planning to do and that would *really* inconvenience me."
"No doubt I could add to that list." growled Frodo. "Lathspell I name him, Swindler-and-Crook. But he'll get no chance to hear it. He was lost in Moira."
Sam and Spiegel once again exchanged looks. "'Father'?"
"No!! I never said 'father' and you can't prove I did. Fatheuhteacher means, umm... "Obnoxious one" in the forgotten tongue of the Etruscans. Anyway, are you sure he was so thoroughly lost that he couldn't find his way back? Perhaps a search party..."
Frodo chuckled. "Thank Eru, yes. A magic-wielding character who falls into an abyss in an ambiguous death-scene and no recovered body? Nope, we are never seeing him again."
"I see that it's a blessing that he wasn't cut in two," said Faramir, now in greater control of himself. "This Mesprendeur was, I now guess, more than a meddler and cow-tipper extra-ordinaire, he was a loremaster and scientist - and you can hardly get much more of a praise than that. Had he been among us to consult concerning the hard words of our dream, he ... well, come to think of it, he would have probably interpreted it as a nonsensical Freudian delusion filled with phallic symbolism. Or we'd have quarelled about whether it's the midget or the standing that's supposed to be low. Aye - it seems that the journey of Boromir™ was doomed. Mesprendeur knew hardly anything about Isildur or the events surrounding him: Genetics was his expertise."
Now Dr. Faramir's voice sank to a whisper. "But this conclusion I've reached, or leaped to, or somersaulted to, and I have postponed it for an upcoming publication: That there's physical evidence for the Isildur-Miniwethil-Sauron triangle which so far has only been rumored. But I had not before thought that Isildur's Shame was that same thing. For none of the histories - nay, not even the parodies - ever made that connection. Not even in Dr. Imrahil's blockbusting trilogy "Was Isildur gay?", "Was Isildur a transvestite?" and "Who's this Isildur person anyway?" was that ever implied.
"What was that Thing I can't yet be certain. Was it an engagement present from one to the other: a piece of jewelry perhaps?" - he added with a wry smile at the hobbits. "But other reports speak of the stain of Doom that this Thing held - the stain which could not be unmade or washed clean, save only in the Nurnenshire lake, near the place where it was wrought. And this implies that it was a piece of clothing. Either way, I can believe that Boromir™ would try to steal such a thing; he was a bit into crossdressing, be it rings, dresses or horned helmets."
"But fear no more! I am not such a man - and my dressing habits are normal. No, no, I'd refuse to wear such thing, even for the sake of scientific experimentation."
But for the sake of the Revolution, thought Sam, how many worse thing I've been willing to do. Oh, Revolutionary Rosie, forgive me.
"For myself," said Faramir, "I would see the White Weed smoking again all over the courts of the kings, and the Mousy Ears return, and Minas Tirith™ a leader in scientific achievement and entertainment: Minas Mickey again as of old, full of vision and creativity; beautiful and expensive like a once-in-your-lifetime experience with wit and real humour - not a jester-for-hire with a pun or fart joke, nay not even a well-intentioned clown with baggy trousers and a ready pie to throw."
Frodo made no answer. Almost he had wielded to a lusty desire for this man of taste and scientific achievement - but something had held him back. He was now in a deep mistrust about the Stone of Galadriel (or was it the Ring - a 'thing of Power' Maglor said) which might create in him these feelings. It didn't help that right now he felt himself getting turned on by visions of clowns throwing custard pies at him.
So they passed on, until the graphic surroundings grew fewer and fewer. Then they turned aside again to the right, and came quickly to an open field, west of a white house with a boarded front door and a small mailbox in front of it.
"Here, as was agreed, I shall blindfold the eyes of Frodo. The others may still walk free."
This was not to the liking of Frodo. "The agreement was made without my consent," he said. "I will not walk blindfold, like a peasant or a servant. I am not a spy, and if I will not go forward free then I will go back and sue you all when I come into my inheritance as Lord of the Nurnenshire estates."
"Now that you have so far, you can't go back to where you used to be. You are in a whole new world." said Dr. Faramir sternly, "And I am either speaking metaphorically or quoting a song. Possibly both. Anyway, you will NOT come into your inheritance, not unless you claim it within ten years' time. We could keep you for longer than that."
Frodo sprang up (a rather meaningless gesture, since he was already standing) and tried to set himself side by side with Sam, something which would have caused more impressive results if Sam was willing to comply or if there had been a nearby wall to place his back against. He fumbled for Sting.
"A plague on males and their pissing contests! We don't care whose sword is the biggest." cried out Spiegel.
"Come!" said Sam. "It is unfair for my poor, poor Master to be thus singled out. Blindfold us all, and me first. That will be best, even though surroundings will have to be described verbally." he said but he winked at Dr. Faramir as he was saying it.
"So let it be done." answered Dr. Faramir, smiling "Will you consent to this Frodo? Why, I will blindfold even myself and my soldiers before leading you onwards."
Frodo reluctantly agreed, and forcing himself not to laugh Dr. Faramir had Blacklung blindfold Sam, Spiegel, Faramir himself and then Frodo. Needless to say when that last blindfold was placed, all the other ones were removed.
So it was, that Frodo knew nothing of that last mile of the road. They descended through caves, and a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. Now and again they'd have to backtrack their steps or even drop objects so as to have reference points in their efforts not to get lost. In places the passages seemed to have a weird logic of their own, so that reversing your direction wasn't certain to return you to your point of origin. It all looked very tedious and tiring to Sam, even though it filled him with a strange sense of nostalgia.
"Let Frodo... uh, I mean *us* see!" Dr. Faramir said in the end. Frodo's scarf was removed and he stared around him. They were standing on a wet floor of polished stone, on which a window was set, open, one pane laid back.
"This is the Henneth Annun, the West Under the Window,", explained Faramir. "one of the most experimental of our places. Few strangers even know about it. Don't mind the name. It's intentional."
They climbed down and at once the found themselves in a room with a table set for two (two hundred that is), lit by candlelight. "Well, here is our refuge." said Dr. Faramir. "Not a typical place, but here atleast you may pass the night. Only two reactions there are ever concerning it: One either loves or hates it. And understanding is not required for either."
Dr Faramir bid them rest, then he went about among the men, questioning each as they came in. Some were coming back from their SATs, but others had been sent to record the fauna in the lands bordering with Mordor.
"Well, Anblorb, did you have a chance to study the specimen you were seeking in its native environment? Before dissecting it, that is?"
"Well, no, Doc," said the young man. "It didn't seem of the orcus genus at least. But I did see something rather strange. It was getting dark, so perhaps it was nothing other than a grue or a Norseman."
Sam pricked up his ears at this.
"Yet if it was a grue, it was also horned. It stood man-high and seemed to walk as if it knew our secret ways. Perhaps under the shadow of the Unnamed Travesty some of the Norsemen of Holywood are wandering in our newsgroup. They have horned helmets there, 'tis said."
"Perhaps," said Dr. Faramir, hesitating briefly. "That could be a omen of both ill and good. An influx of newbies can be a good thing, but not everyone would welcome it. What did you do?"
"I followed standard procedure," said Anblorb, beaming. "Shot it dead. It screamed and then fell into the waters and flowed away." Sam gasped then, and Dr. Faramir gave him a swift glance - but Sam said nothing. He struggled with himself. "Boromir™ may not be all right," he thought, "and then again he may be. I have a feeling that he may still have a part to play before all this is over. Dr. Faramir did tell me that Boromir™'s Gnomish name was 'McCloud' after all."
After supper (and before they ate they had all stood silently for a moment in respect for the One Who Was, and the One Who Is, and the One Who Will One Day Perhaps Be) Dr. Faramir asked them many questions about their journey. Much he dwelt on the subject of Tom Bombadildo, but eventually he returned to the place of Boromir™ in the fellowship and the role he'd played in with the Reeps in the wild, with the bureaucracy of Charadhras, in the mines of Moira.
"It must have irked Boromir™ to flee from such an obvious opportunity for both entertainment and commercial profit."
"He was the last to go," said Frodo, "but the room had become filled with enflamed posts. If it hadn't been for that, I do no doubt that both Aragon and Lego-lass would have remained there debating the subject."
"Maybe it would have been better if he had perished there, rather than meet the torment that awaited him in the hands of orcs."
"Maybe! Which reminds me, how about those Nicks?" said Frodo trying to quickly change the subject. "Umm, because the sports of Minas Tirith™ interest me a lot, that is."
"How about them? Interest for sports is waning in Minas Tirith™. The sword of Elendil, if it returns indeed, may briefly rekindle it perhaps, if its bearer has not only inherited the blade, but also the will to fight for his life against the lions and tigers of the arena we'll put him in."
"Boredom was ever present in the realms that the Atlanteans founded. Kings used to sat lazily in front of non-existent and uninvented television sets, or considered a game of scrabble more interesting than the process of reproduction. And the birth-rates were declining."
"But the stewards were wiser and much more liberal in their beginning. Liberal because they recruited the breeding-stock of the sturdy folk of the havens, and invited the sexy peoples of the North over, which being white were considered almost human, unlike the men of warmer climates. (And thence does Dr. Imrahil derive his ancestry - the teen pregnancy of an elven exchange-student)"
"So it came to pass in the days of Cirion™, the Twelfth Stuard (and my father is the 1075th - don't ask, there were some periods of very abrupt changes in management) that the Rohirrim men came over and wooed our womenfolk, while the Rohirrim women tried to rape our men. And these all became our brothers and sisters-in-law, and have ever proved true to us, aiding us at need with sexual advice and better cuisine."
"And even the most bigoted among us loved them, for their women were fair and their men were fair, and their speech was likewise fair, and a great number of the children born to our women were fair in the following years. And the bigoted among us had no problem with that.
"For in such a way did Gondor™ like to divide the human species, forcing everyone to register as one of nine different 'races' based on the hue of the skin, with the whitest us on the top. Feh!" Dr. Faramir spat on the ground. "Scientifically absurd!" he said and then suddenly sighed and was quiet.
Sam was suddenly willing to take whatever information he had offered to share with them at face value. He had noted that Dr. Faramir seemed egalitarian-minded, and this had earned his respect and quieted his suspicion even more than their mutual dislike of Frodo had. He spoke up. "You haven't told us much yet about the Ring, Doctor."
"Sam!" cried Frodo aghast. He had fallen asleep yet again, and he only woke up for these last few words. All three turned towards him, surprised.
"What?" Sam asked. "He *knows* about the ring. You told him yesterday, remember?"
Frodo looked embarassed. "Umm... I had forgotten actually. Sorry."
Spiegel rolled her eyes. "Save us! There again you go! You'd forget your own head if it wasn't screwed on as my grandma used to say. O dear, oh dear!"
Dr. Faramir smiled at Spiegel and then turned back to Sam. "Indeed not, Master Samwise. I thought to leave it for the next cha-, that is for later. And I'd like to know what other people told you about it. Lady Galadriel for example! Wise she must be, and perilously beautiful!"
Sam shrugged. "Well...I don't know anything about perilous. She may be her own evil twin sister, but she probably makes her partners use a condom."
They spoke for a little while more and then they finally stood up to go to sleep. "I'll have thinking to do, " said Dr. Faramir "papers to grade, and my instruments to set up for tomorrow. Go now to rest, therefore, but first tell me if you wish where you are planning to go and what do do you want?" A shadow seemed to pass over him as he spoke those last few words, but it may have just been a trick of the candlelight's flickering.
Spiegel's eyes glowed eerily and for a moment her hair stood on edge. "You want to know what I want? You want to know the truth? I want my people to reclaim their rightful place in Middle-Earth. I want everything to be as they used to be!" she growled, then she suddenly stood straight and passed her hand over her eyes. "Oops. Sorry. It seems I was channelling for a moment there. I don't even know where that stuff came from."
Sam wanted many things, several of which had to do with the blissful swing of an axe, but he refrained to speak of this before so many witnesses.
And as for Frodo, he suddenly burst into tears. "I just want to get my estates and title!" he whined in a weak voice. "But that blasted El Rond forced me to first find Mount Viagra and throw the Ring into the gulf of Freud. They all said so. Why does noone care to help me?"
Dr. Faramir stared at him in grave astonishment, then as Frodo swayed, he stepped back and let Frodo fall into the muddy floor. "Throw the ring into Mount Viagra? What an amazingly stupid thing to do," he thought and directed servants to pick up Frodo and throw him into a spare dungeon.
For Sam and Spiegel better accomodations would be found. "Good night, Doctor. You are enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked indicating unconscious Frodo being carried away.
"Yes, sir, and I don't blame you."
Faramir smiled. "Perhaps. You begin to see with eyes keener than those of many who would deem themselves wise. My ethics can indeed get a bit weaker when dealing with the foolish. The desire to do as I did was overpowering."
"Ah, well." said Sam. "As I said, I don't blame you. But something else:" he added and his mouth turned into a strange smile. "You said my master has a fairy air and that was true even if sounding vaguely homophobic. But I can say this: You have an air (and a nose, and eyes actually), that reminds of, of - well, a wizard. Of Gandalf."
"No, you are mistaken, it's a trick of a light, it is!" cried out Faramir. "Have I not earnestly studied the matter? Wizards can't reproduce. And there's no evidence that Gandalf learned ways to experiment with genetics in Dol Guldur, none whatsover, none I tell you! Evil cannot create! Not that Gandalf was evil! Goodnight!"
He ran away in an uncharacteristic near-panic and Sam was left with his thoughts. "Well, Doctor seems a decent equal-minded sort and Gandalf is dead, but there's nothing wrong with gathering a little dirt on people... Just in case. Perhaps I can from afar discern the opportunity for blackmail." he mused, pleased with himself.
The window shattered.
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Last updated: 01 Apr 2002