Frolijah – part 14 – Concerning movies with Elijah Wood in them, which couldn’t have happened, because he was in Middle-earth. Right?

by Aug 20, 2003Other News

Frolijah – part 14
Concerning movies with Elijah Wood in them, which couldn’t have happened, because he was in Middle-earth. Right?

“. . . because I am The Guy,” Elijah finished. The others stared at him in awe. Of course this was The Guy. It was impossible to be otherwise. Elijah was so big, so majestic. So . . . so perfect as The Guy. The way he knelt there in the light, looking like an angel. Elijah rose – he did not stand, he rose. There could be no other word for the motion – and extended his hand, blasting away the door.

“Hey, Elijah, we’ve got to get out of here!” Elijah turned to the short, black-haired girl who had addressed him. She rolled her eyes at his look. “Wake up, Frolijah, it’s time to go.”

Elijah faltered. What was going on? “Why do you call me this? I am The Guy, and must go on.”

“Right. Whatever. Look, Frodo, Strider is not happy; get up!”

“Frodo? No, that is not my name. This isn’t a movie . . .” Elijah trailed off, hardly noticing the bewildered stares of his new companions. “Who are you?”

“I’m Amanda, remember? Knock, knock Frodo – get up!”

The Guy – Elijah – shook his head, ignored the girl, and walked through his newly-blasted door – and was shocked by electricity. “Fine, I told you,” the girl rolled her eyes again. Elijah was beginning to notice something vaguely familiar about her. No, he was The Guy! Not Elijah, the Guy! Five lives left in the game, come on – don’t let The Guy die –

“Aah!” Frolijah nearly jumped of his – well, gooey spot of ground onto the hobbit sleeping next to him. What an odd . . . dream? It seemed like a memory of something that was happening at that exact time – so real! But in a different reality.

Ah, well. He had been having a lot of dreams like that lately.

“Shut up, Frodo; it’s still nighttime,” a strangely familiar voice said from several feet away from under a pile of thickly curled brown hair. “You’re going to wake the others – I got to stay on watch, once Strider finally stopped staring at the idiosyncratic lights, but the others are asleep. What’s wrong, anyway? Speak softly.”

“Amanda?” Frolijah asked quietly.

“Yeah, what? Hey – what did you call me?”

“Amanda – is that your real name?”

Alice paused for a moment, just long enough for Frolijah to think she had dropped off – but finally answered. “Yes, it is. How did you know that?”

“I . . . I had a dream.” Frolijah began to feel a bit foolish – but hey, the dream had been right so far. “I was in the Spy Kids 3D movie.”

“Never heard of it – didn’t they just get the second one out? Go back to sleep; you’re delirious.”

“Alice? –


– are – what was that?”

I sighed a little sadly. This was going to be a long night. “What was what?”

“That sudden change – I don’t know, like a ——- earthquake.”

“You’re crazy,” I told him. Wait, maybe there was something to this – I was thinking in first person again! Whoever’s writing this story has POV problems.

VO: hey!

Alice: what? You can hear me?

Frolijah: I told you something was wrong!

VO: Oops. Can you guys just forget I was here? Little mess up . . .

Frolijah: who are you? Can you get us out of here?

Alice: guys. The ultimate one-track mind.

Frolijah: you know, you said that out loud.

Alice: —–. I mean, I did?

VO: um, goodbye.

Frolijah: hey! Not so fast! Who are you?

Alice: and why are we speaking in play form?

VO: I am . . . um . . . the hand of Providence!

Frolijah: What?

VO: Uh, Nienna, all right? Goodbye. Lily, get me off this thing! I told you the voice over was a bad idea! It’s messing up canon. Wait, do you think they can still hear me? Oops. I mean . . . Yes, I am Nienna! I have come to control your destiny! Did that sound stupid? Yes? Great . . .

Alice: The Valor?

VO: Er – yes. No, wait. Is this thing still on script mode? Lily, I told you, get me off this! I’m sick of playing–
_——beep—–_error, ending transmission–beep—- back into story mode– Alice POV

Frolijah: but I – are you still there?

“I think she’s gone,” I answered.

“How can you tell?”

“We’re speaking normally again. And yeah, maybe that whole thing when she said she was going may have given me a hint.”

“Oh. Alice?”


“Let’s not talk about this – it was probably just a dream. Like my being in some movie in the future.” Frolijah lay back down, pretending – very convincingly – to be falling asleep. “Goodnight – and if I wake up again, hit me over the head with something.”

“Really? You’ll let me?”



Still grumbling to myself, I watched as Frolijah drifted into peaceful slumber. Ach! How could he sleep at a time like this! I mean . . . I mean . . . must . . . stay . . . on . . . watch . . . zzz


“Good riddance foul midges forever,” I sang under my breath. I wondered in some nearly-forgotten part of my mind if this hobbit body actually had a decent voice, seeing as it was, after all, Tolkien’s creation. Probably not. I, the only Alice in Middle-earth, would still have to suffer with my far-inferior-to-Frolijah’s voice. Sigh. “Hellooooo Weathertop!”

Well, kind of. Imagine: plodding along all day – thankfully without many midges – to get to Weathertop, a hill, which meant climbing. Gripe, grouse, complain, whine, grumble, whimper, pule, groan, and make sarcastic comments was my motto. A slogan that got voted off the board quite early on – Frolijah even donated his dirty handkerchief to Pippin and Merry to gag me with. Gag is right – gag, barf, and yuck beyond belief. I have nightmares about it to this day. Here is how the whole miserable situation came to pass.

“. . .This walk is worse than my singing! I mean, I’ll probably wear holes in my feet by the time we get there. No midges? Right . . . so we get to swelter and die of fatigue instead of blood loss! Jolly good trade, don’t you think?”

“Alice, could you please stop? That will probably just make the walk more unpleasant.”

“Sure it will. Come on – freedom of speech. What are you going to do, gag me? Bind me like some common . . . well, whatever you gag? Ha! As if you could!”

“We could try,” Frolijah offered. He `stealthily’ passed his kerchief to Pippin. The two youngest hobbits jumped from behind me and forced the filthy thing over my mouth.

“Mmm! Phmmf mp!”

“I can’t understand you.”

“Mllllmmt mmmm gmmmo!”

“No, you can stay right there.”


“Right, you too.”

And there it was – I suffocated all day, not daring to breath deeply for fear of the stench, not willing myself to touch the thing with my hands. They still haven’t taken it off.

And we still weren’t to Weathertop. Curse you, Universal Laws of Irony!

Ah, well, now that we’re ending this part, I may as well torture you with needless descriptions of scenery, yes? Right-o, here we go.

Hey, that rhymed!

Okay, imagine: browny-greeny-grossy-gooey-gunk everywhere, with dead midges and I-don’t-want-to-know-what-else, mixed in with dry dust (don’t ask me how it got there) miserable weather (doesn’t matter what kind, it was all miserable here) and a really stinky kerchief. So I’m bad at descriptions. So sue me. Actually, please do, maybe then I can get this thing out of my mouth.


Back on Earth as we know her, Lea clicked on the purple icon titled “How do I get to Middle-earth?”

Elijodo, leaned over Lea’s shoulder and read the following:
How to get to Middle-earth; the Truth Behind Tolkien’s Story.
•4;•6;–9;•2;@@! –8;–3;, –0;92=–5;–2;–1;; —2;–2;–8;’==•2; –2;”9;346–6;•2;•1;!!!!!
“Should I click on it?” Lea asked Elijodo.

“I do not know – where would it lead us?”

“No idea. For all I know, that weird code just meant: `Give it up, morons; you’re obsessed.'”

“No, it actually makes no sense at all.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, that’s – well, I don’t know the name of the language, but I can somehow read it. It’s gibberish.”

“Well, there goes that theory.”

“No, I’m not so sure it’s wrong. Let me read what the . . . what is it called?”

“The link?”

“Yes, what the link says.”

“Okay.” Lea clicked on it. Just another link. “Tolkienonline?”

“Look at that one also.”

Frolijah — Part 13
An unlucky number + an part 13 = midges . . .

Disclaimer: I “own” Alice and Lea. The rest are real people in our continuum or that of Tolkien. Slavery is outlawed, I believe, so even my characters are only partly mine. Sigh. Life is hard for a writer.
“I’m being eaten alive ”

“Drinken alive.”

“‘Drinken’ isn’t a word. It should be `drunk.'”

“I’m being drunken alive.”



“You have a very odd sense of humour.”

“Um, thank you?”

“Not really. It’s still just `drunk.'”


Strider was really a good guide. We had seen no one following us, and had been making pretty good time for a bunch of hobbits guided by Mr. Rugged. I didn’t care. There was no excuse — absolutely none — for leading us through midgewater. Even if it did happen in the book. In Pippins words, there were more midges than water. I repeated this several times, while Frolijah rolled his eyes in growing irritation.


“What are you screaming about?” Elijodo asked, after clamping his hands over his ears. “It was just another one of those fan fictions you were showing me earlier.”


“What’s wrong?”

“Can’t you see? It’s writing about us, us! And the real Elijah Wood, and everything that’s happened to us! Look at these links!

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13

“People around the world are reading about us! About every breath, every stupid move! Even this conversation!”

“How is that possible?” Elijodo asked in alarm.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! Just give me some time to think, okay? If any of you out there can here me, —– to you! Wait, what did I just say?”

“You were asking if anyone could hear you?”

“I mean after that.”

“You – you just paused, then said `to you.’ Why?”

“Aah! I can’t even say —–!” Lea shook her head desperately, in an attempt to speak sanely. “Okay, I order all of you people to stop reading right now! And e-mail the author telling her exactly what you think about this story! How dare she write in these things! Stop it! Stop it!”

“Miss Lea, please calm down,” Elijodo said gently, looking up into the sky as if the Valor as he knew them were bringing this hysterical nurse into his care. “Perhaps it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Perhaps! Perhaps! Nooooooo!!! And Amanda, my sister! Little Amanda Lynne!”

“A mandolin?”

“Yes – her name is Amanda. Amanda Lynne Cord.”

“I see.” Elijodo tried to back away from Lea. He was in shock still from the utter impossibility of it all. How could some unknown person write about him? How would they know? And why? Yes, there had been the books, and the movie, but those seemed – somehow those seemed far off, like they were happening to someone else. Elijodo was not angry. Perhaps later, but not now, not here.

“She always got teased in school for that name, and now she’s in Middle-earth! And the author is making her look like an idiot! Just like me! But I’m not saying my name! Ha! You’ll never know! Never!”

Elijodo watched Lea, his own emotions, even the shock, seemed to evaporate into the confusion and impossibility of it all. It couldn’t be. This was his life. His! And now everything was taken from him: his home, his friends, his . . . his Ring. That’s all he wanted, the Ring.

Pushing away the thoughts the best Elijodo could, he spoke to Lea is a way he hoped might cheer, or at least consol, her. “Go ahead and cry, Lea. Yell even, it will not change this author’s mind. Things may not be better in the morning, but times change, and the road goes on forever.” Elijodo smiled sadly to himself, singing.

The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began;
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can.
Pursuing it with weary feet
In a strange land in late day
I go to misfortune’s errand meet,
Until to home I find my way.

Suddenly, another glowing link popped into existence.


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