The Rohirrim Ride Again:
A stunning sight, beautiful and awe-inspiring to behold: the Rohirim
were riding once again. The fine steeds moving in perfect unison. The
riders at one with their mounts. To the observer, it was like a
kaleidoscope of helms and horses, blowing manes and battle lances,
swords, shields, pounding hooves. They thundered down the hill, a
hundred horsemen and their horses moving as one. A truly breathtaking
sight. One could almost imagine the swelling music pulsing through
Man and beast rode with but a single thought: I wonder if this will be as popular as
the RCMP Musical Ride.
Rohirrim Ride Again... Part 2
Theoden called Eomer in for a consultation.
“You wanted to see me, Sire?” asked Eomer as he bowed to one knee in
front of his uncle.
“I’ve been thinking, this rugged look is good for us and all, but it’s
about time for a change.”
“A change, Sire? What kind of a change would that be?”
“You know… something different.”
Eomer protested. “But Sire, we are known for our helms with their
horse-tail plumage, for our mail and our cloaks. And Brown is our
“Yes,” responded Theoden, “But picture this…. The Rohirim will ride to
war in Red Serge!”
Eomer fumed out of
the throne room. He had had enough. He would have preferred anything to
this. ANYTHING! What had possessed his uncle, King Theoden? Possessed!
Wait a second!
“Eomer, you may be on to something,” he told himself aloud, glancing
around to see if anyone was within earshot. “This new devilry must be a
work of Saruman and his pawn, Grima. Who else could be so treacherous?”
He went in search of Gandalf to talk about Theoden’s odd behavior,
subconsciously straightening his lanyard, adjusting his “Sam Browne”
belt and tucking his Stetson under his arm as he went.
Gandalf was in the tallest tree and beneath him the wargs and goblins
approached, singing their terrible yet insipid song about birds and
cookery. Flames flickered around the clearing in the night.
The dwarves (and a hobbit) clung to the branches and watched fearfully
as fire was laid at the base of the wizard's tree. 'Ya hoy!" sang
the goblins in triumph. The fire began to spread to the other
trees, but what was this? Gandalf drew himself up to his full
height as best he was able in a treetop and the wizard unleashed his
powers upon them.
"Yarrrrg!" cried the goblins in dismay as great squiggles of
silly-string shot down upon them from the wizard's staff, squiggles in
green, yellow and pink festooned their goblin-teeth, snarled in the fur
of the wargs, clogged their ears and put out their fires. And
still it came, out of the air at Gandalf's command. It came on,
piling up at the base of the trees, burying the struggling enemy
beneath its colorful, cheery coils. The dwarves, at first
dismayed by what appeared to be yet another threat (that of drowning in
silly-string) were soon applauding as best they were able.
The goblins were no longer a threat, nor the wargs; the last visible
were either rapidly sinking beneath a tide of pastel noodles or
struggling home in panic. The rising wind caught streamers of
silly-string and drew it up and down in great squiggles, catching upon
the branches, swaying and bobbing. Their beards and clothing were
soon flecked with bits like confetti. And still it came.
"Er, Gandalf," Bilbo ventured to call out. "They've gone! We've
quite enough silly-string, thank you."
Gandalf did not reply, as just at that very moment he was swept into
the sky by an eagle.
The dwarves stared, hollered and shrieked in undwarflike mannerisms as
they went aloft. Streamers and lines of pastel noodles blew from
their clothing as they broke away from mounds of silly-string.
Above them, eagles' wings powerfully swept, before went a line of
eagles bearing dwarves (and hobbit), all following the easily seen
trail of pink, yellow and green that still squirted unendingly from
Gandalf in the lead. Beneath them the country bore a dotted line
showing their path. Bilbo found this a great revelation and
decided right then to use dotted lines on his own maps to show his
The eagles landed, dropping the dwarves (and hobbit) into a pile upon
their eyrie. Just beyond them they could dimly make out the ledge
upon which their wizard had been deposited. It was not long
until it began to overflow, the rough stick nest brimming with moonlit
silly-string. Great fat garlands of it twisted down over the
ledges in a slow-motion pastel waterfall and more came. All they
could see of Gandalf was his hat bobbing above the mounded undulations
of silly-string that marked where he stood.
"%@*!#!" they heard his voice of Wisdom declare in muffled
thunder. "Turn OFF!"
The piles of silly-string subsided as Gandalf flailed his way
out of them, multi-hued gobs dropping off the eyrie into the
night. It was not until their arrival at Beorn's the following
days they discovered where some had gone. It appeared
wizard-generated silly-string gobs were more aerodynamic than they had
expected, judging by the festoons that draped the Carrock, dotted the
bushes and hung upon the gables of their host's dwelling. Gandalf
also received something of a dressing-down when in relating the tale of
events he gestured in an overly-wizardly way and accidently turned all
of Beorn's provisions into spaghetti.
"Must you really leave?" Bilbo asked Gandalf as they stood near the
darksome eaves of Mirkwood Forest.
"Yes, but you must continue on," said his friend. "I need you to keep
watching over those dwarves for me. Here, I have something for you that
may help if there are any missteps." He pressed something into
Bilbo's hand, a small rounded metal canister with a button on the top
of it. "Only press it in greatest need. And stay on the path! Now
goodbye, and really goodbye!" He mounted his horse and sped
away. Bilbo entered the woods only slightly comforted.
"Achhhh...sssss" hissed the spiders in frustration. "What is it?
What is it called?" No matter which way they turned, the horrid
attack continued. Their prey was getting away!
"String! String! String!" replied the infuriating invisible voice, the
glowing can of "port-a-wiz" silly-string that he had been given in case
of emergencies was certainly coming in handy now. Silly-string
shot into the spider's eyes, confused them as no web of their own
making ever had. In fear they ran gibbering into the darkness,
spluttering on blue pastel strands, their spinnerets clogged with pink
and yellow. They were no match for String!
"I gave them the Arkenstone!" squeaked Bilbo. Thorin shook him
til his head was a blur.
"You!" cried Thorin. "By the beard of Durin, I wish I had Gandalf
here!..." his continued curses echoed. "I'll throw you down...!"
"If you don't like my Burglar, please don't damage him," came Gandalf's
voice. "You are not making a very splendid figure as King Under the
"Why....you...." spluttered Thorin. His entire face, beard and
all, suddenly disappeared under a mound of silly-string that the wizard
shot forth. "Blaphllgpla!" he added, flailing around as Bilbo neatly
made his escape down the wall.
'Bless me! What's going on?' cried Bilbo. There was a great commotion,
people thick round his door. He had arrived back during an
auction for his own effects.
"He's not dead?" shrieked Lobelia, clutching spoons to her chest.
"He is! That is not the genuine Bilbo!" stated Otho
authoritatively. "And I should know, being his next-of-kin and
all. Begone, you pretender!"
Gandalf smoothed his beard. "We'll soon set this right."
The Sackville-Baggins (and much of the population of Hobbiton, for that
matter) promptly vanished under mounds of undulating
silly-string. I am sorry to say, Bilbo did not mind a bit.
One morning the hobbits woke to find the large field, south of Bilbo's
door, covered with silly-string. A special entrance was cut in
the mess and steps were woven there as if from crochet. The
silly-string crocheted tents were by Gandalf: they were not only
designed by him, but made by him; and the special effects, fountains of
pastel noodles, were let off by him. They were all superb.
The art of Gandalf improved with age.
A tremendous lot of streamers shot up, forming a floating plate of
spaghetti in the sky.
'That is the signal for supper!' said Bilbo.
"Ouch!" cried the Elf and not for the first time that day. First his
hammar slipped, banging his thumb, then that beam knocked him on the
head and now his beard had gone and caught in the decorative
feather-like edging he had been chiseling since lunchtime. He grumbled
as he untangled the silvery, silky chin-hairs and rewound them into the
facial bun he wore when working. Why oh why had he ever consented to
trying out that 'sun-lotion' those dwarves had sold him all those years
ago? And why oh why had he put it on his face, of all places?
The Last Ship Out
Cirdan stood upon the crest of the hill and looked down upon his
well-loved Bay. Below him the last ship waited by the peaceful dock. He
raised his bullhorn to his mouth and called inward to the lands of
"LAAAAAAAASST SHIP! LAST SHIP! COME N GET IT!"
"Aw, already? But we just got here!" came a complaint from the trees
"But we were just starting a new song!" grumbled another voice as the
trees came alive with Elven host.
"It just isn't faaaair," whined an Elf, "Why are you not making any
more ships? You said you'd wait
Grumbling and whining, Elves began to file down the hillside, then
began to run as they caught sight of the ship. It's formerly gleaming,
empty decks were already beginning to be thronged with Elves. More
Elves descended by the steps and pathways at the ends of the Bay,
others made their way down ropes cast over the steeper parts of the
cliffs. The paths began to be alive with Elves, pushing, shoving and
Cirdan gave a resigned sigh as the ship began to flounder under its
load, sinking until its deckrails were nearly to the level of the sea.
Elves were still trying to get aboard the ship, clinging to the
mast and ropes. Fistfights were breaking out. Cirdan watched as one of
those aboard cut the ropes with a sword and the ship lumbered out to
sea, leaving a shrieking, protesting mass on the docks. Some of them
acutally leapt into the water, trying to swin after.
Cirdan's clear eyes watched, knowing what would happen. Sure enough,
the remaining crowd turned to him, begging and beseeching him. He knew
they would continue until he built another
ship. And he would. Again. Prophetic gifts and procrastinators just
didn't mix, he thought.
"Come on Pip, we've got to go in there. I'll be with you the whole
Pippin shuddered as the stale air seeped from the dark, cavernous
"I don't know Merry. There's probably spiders and dust, and who know's
what creeping around down there. I've even heard it's haunted."
"Nonsense," replied Merry. "Besides, Frodo would do the same for you
and we are definately well armed."
And with that, Merry grabbed up his mop and pail and marched down
the steps into the cellar at Bag End to begin spring cleaning. Pippin
reluctantly followed behind.