Narrator: Much later, the one Ranger, the four Hobbits, and two ponies approach a hill with a conical top. At the top was the ruins of an ancient building, as if once some great watch-tower stood there.
Aragorn: This was once the great watch-tower of Amon Sul. Now it is generally known by the uncouth title of ‘Weatherop’. We shall rest here tonight. Here are some swords for you to defend yourselves with if the Ringwraiths happen upon you while I’m out scouting. But they won’t know you’re here unless you do something stupid like light a fire.
Pippin: Why would we do something stupid like that?
Aragorn: Be back in an hour.
Frodo: Right. I am utterly exhausted, so I’ll just take a little nap. Stay here, and try not to do anything…. stupid. Savvy?
Pippin: Keep that spit turning, Sam. One crank every ten seconds.
Frodo: (yawn) That would have been an excellent sleep if I hadn’t been dreamin of Black Riders spitting me the entire time. (sees the others) What are you doing?!?
Merry: We got hungry so we’re roasting the extra pony. Luckily Sam bought an extra-large spit before we left Bree.
Frodo: Oh no! Why are you doing that?
Merry: It’s the best way to cook ponies, cut of their head, gut them, and then slowly turn the entire body on a spit until it’s well roasted. Relax, we can load all the luggage onto Bill.
Bill: Oh boy.
Frodo: No, I mean the fire!
Sam: How else can we cook it, Mr. Frodo? We didn’t bring an oven.
Frodo: Aarrgghh! It will attract the Ringwriaths! Put it out! (stompstompstomp) Aaaah! I forgot that I don’t wear shoes! My feet! They’re burnt!
Narrator: It was roughly right about then when five of the undead Black Riders of Mordor, the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, catch up to them.
Frodo: Black Riders!
Witch-king: Yes! That’s us!
Frodo: Why have you been following me through fen and forest, bog and plain, all the way to this ruddy hill?
Witch-king: As you obviously already know, Mr. Baggins, we’ve been keeping our Eye on you for quite some time now. It seems that you’ve been living two lives. In one life, you’re a respectable Hobbit. You pay your gardener well, you listen to the Mayor of Hobbiton, and you….help the Gaffer carry out his garbage. Your other life is spent in the shadows, where you go by the alias ‘Mr. Underhill’. One of these lives has a future, Mr. Baggins, and the other does not.
Frodo: (sweating like crazy)
Witch-king: We know you have been contacted by a certain individual — a man who calls himself ‘Strider’. Whatever you think you know about this man is irrelevant. He is regarded by most authorities to be the most dangerous man alive. We’re willing to wipe the slate clean — give you a fresh start. All we’re asking in return is your cooperation in bringing a known terrorist to justice…and you giving us our Ring back.
Frodo: Wow. That sounds like a really good idea. But I think I have a better one. How about I tell you to buzz off — before I am forced to eliminate you?
Witch-king: Tell me, Mr. Baggins, how can you eliminate us – if you can’t even hold onto your sword?
(Frodo’s sword drops from his nerveless fingers)
Frodo: Wha — ulp!!!
Sam: Back off!
Ringwraith 1: (whack)
Sam: (hits the ground)
Witch-king: Victory is ours!
Frodo: Please, spare our lives! We will give you a free meal if you do!
Witch-king: Nay! Nothing but the one Ring of Sauron will appease us!
Frodo: Oy, we’re screwed.
Witch-king: (draws Morgul-blade)
Frodo: Stay away! Come closer and you’ll taste cold steel, foul undead being of darkness! What? Two swords! Hey! Stay away! Please don’t stab me! AAAARRGGGHH!!
Aragorn: (leaping dramatically from the shadows with a flaming torch) Flee or burn!
Witch-king: We outnumber you 5 to 1, mortal!
Aragorn: HAH! Do you not recognize this handle and broken sword I carry?
Witch-king: It’s the shards of Narsil. Big whoop, we can easily kill you.
Aragorn: Uh….right. True enough. But I have a secret weapon, an heirloom of the house of Isildur. Long have I borne it in view of this hour, and glad indeed am I that I have not cast it away unwisely. Wielded by Isildur, it aided greatly in the war against Sauron….
Witch-king: If it’s broken in 11 pieces like that sword, it can’t be too bad.
Aragorn: HAH! What is….this????
Witch-king: Noooooooo!!! It cannot be!
Witch-king: A harmonica!
Aragorn: One simple note….
Witch-king: No! Mercy, we beg thee….
Ringwraiths: (flee screeching into the night)
Witch-king: We’ll meet again, Dunadan!
Aragorn: Ah, crud.
Merry: Far be it from me to question another’s authority, but wouldn’t it have been wiser for you to have jumped out before Frodo got stabbed?
Aragorn: No. A very great part of victory in battle is waiting for the opportune…. moment.
Aragorn: Hasten now, my friends, for if Frodo does not reach Rivendell within a short time, he will succumb completely to the power of the Ring and become a Ringwraith forever.
Pippin: What’s so terrible about that?
Aragorn: We’ll have to kill him…and then one of YOU will have to take the Ring and carry it!
Hobbits (leaping into action]
to be continued in, ‘Rivendell’!
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