Bucklebury's LotR Parody

An ongoing role-play parody by various fans on Bucklebury.net

Fog on the Barrow Downs
Thick as smoke, the fog on the Barrow Downs crawls through the shallow valleys and clings like moist cotton candy to the monolithic stones over Rag's tomb....

Impatiently Rags waits.  He decides to listen to a little music while time passes, so he turns on his hi-fi and settles back with a cup of tea.
 
"And now for your listening pleasure, "Ringwraith's Paradise", by Elf Agent, the hottest new act since The King Has Left The Building.."
 (To the tune of "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio in "Dangerous Minds")
 
 
"As I ride through the land on this maniacal chase,
I know I can't crack a smile, 'cause I don't even have a face.
And I've been dwelling in shadow so long that
Even my charger thinks that my mind is gone.
But I ain't never killed a man that kept out of my way;
If you don't want any trouble, stay off the highway.
You better watch what you're sayin' and where you're strayin'
Or you and your comrades might be roadkill one day.
I�m bored to death unless executing tasks
For the psycho dude that sports hokey metal masks, fool...
If my cohorts come obliterate you, who's to blame us?
I�m not after your cash; sure I'm poor, but I�m famous.
 
We�ve all spent our afterlives walkin' in a Ringwraith's paradise.
We had rings, but paid the price walkin' in a Ringwraith's paradise.
We�re just nine old undead guys walkin' in a Ringwraith's paradise.
Stop and smell the edelweiss walkin' in a ringwraith's paradise."

 
Rags reaches over and turns of the radio with a snap.  "I HATE wrap-music!"


The hobbits stuffed the last of the potatoes in among the packs on the ponies and set off at a brisk pace, confidently but not without at least a few wary backward glances at the shuttered windows of the house behind them.  The rain had made everything delightfully freshened and the fogbank looked almost cheerfully bright in the morning sun.  They made good time without any sign of pursuit and no sound of any hoy-hoy-dilly-dallys, breathing a great sigh of relief as they ducked into the swirling fog.
 
"I know the Road is around here somewhere," said Frodo as they walked along through the mist, "so let's keep an eye out for it.  That's supposed to take us straight to Bree. Gandalf said he'd be there, and it would be nice to have a good ale for a change... Say, how about we stop for a bit to eat?  This big rock here would work to lean our backs on. Break out the potatoes, Sam!"

To the hobbits's surprise and delight, they found a chequered cloth spread on the ground beside the chilly stone.  On it was spread a sumptuous luncheon; roast mutton and mint jelly, mushrooms and bacon, fresh-baked bread and bowls of steaming carrots and candied apples.  Also there was a plate full of chocolate cookies, full to heaping.  There was no one in sight.  It was as if it had been laid out for them.
 
On the edges of the blankets were small white place cards, written in rusty ink with the names of each hobbit.
 
There was even a dusty bottle of wine, rather dry but richly flavoured.
 
The fog was thick all around, except on the top of this strange mound, where the sun was warmly shining.  It was cool near the great stone where, if the hobbits get close enough, they might see a small sign which reads "Wet Paint"

Merry's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the wonderful feast, and he looked at his companions.
They looked doubtful, albeit hungry, but Merry had had his fill of potatoes the day before and roast mutton with mint jelly was one of his very favorite dishes.
Then he saw the bowl of carrots and his face fell. "Oh, no," he groaned, "after that last run in with Farmer Maggot I swore a sacred oath that I'd not eat anything that's been cooked with or placed near a bowl of carrots. I think I'd best not have any."
His stomach growled piteously but Merry took a step away...
..then was promptly knocked down as three pairs of hobbit feet trode him into the mud on their way to the picnic feast.
"Oh, that's going to leave a mark," he moaned. "Wow - look at this picnic!" said Frodo happily. "Who cares where it came from - finder's keepers! Every hobbit for himself!"  He joined the others, locust-fashion, stuffing their faces until they couldn't eat another bite which is saying quite a lot for hobbits.    
 
Finally filled to the brim with something other than potatoes,  Frodo found he was beginning to nod off.  After all, they'd hardly had what could be called a restful sleep the night before and had been walking for some time already that day...and the tiny patch of sun was so nice and warm....  What harm could a little nap do?  Bree could wait a little longer, and maybe some of the fog would lift by then so they could find that blasted Road that was still eluding them.
 
The ponies strayed upon the grass, nibbling odd tufts and slowly wandering off into the fog as the hobbit's eyelids began to droop.  

Rags peeks from around the monolith to watch the hobbits gorge themselves, grinning with much satisfaction.  Actually, since the skin on his face had rotted off, he pretty much grinned all the time.  He made a mental note to send a thank-you letter to the Carn Dum Catering Service.  
 
Rags wheeled his barrow (which he had barrowed from the Albino) out of its hiding place, and loaded each overfed and torpid halfling into it.  Whistling "Bach's Fugue", he bears them into the darkness of his crypt.  This was going to be sooooo much fun.....
 
*****

 
Frodo awakes from his gluttonous comma slowly, and what he sees seems strange enough to still be a dream.  He is sitting at a table that is set for tea, in a dark room with no windows.  The walls of the room seem to be made of earth, and they are damp and treeroots have forced their fingertips through into little knotted fists.  A faint greenish light gives just enough illumination to show his companions, and then Frodo wakes up fully with a gasp!
 
Across the table is Meriadoc, but he is dressed in a blue pinafore with a white apron!  And Samwise and Pippin are both wearing frocks with large floral prints, and Frodo himself is now sporting a colourful muumuu.  
 
Frodo hears a voice singing; the song is insidious and catchy, and he finds himself almost singing along....
 
to the tune of "It's a Small World"
 
It's a world of shadows, a world of tears
It's a world of pain and a world of fears
Since we�re all going to die
Why should we even try?
It's a dead world after all
 
It's a dead world after all
It's a dead world after all
It's a dead world after all
It's a dead, dead world
 
There is just one moon
and one golden sun
And some day the Dark Lord will enslave everyone
Every hero must die
So lay back, close your eyes
It's a dead world after all
 
It's a dead world after all
It's a dead world after all
It's a dead world after all
It's a dead, dead world

 
Frozen with fear, Frodo wonders if this might be the end of his Adventures....

Aragorn wondered how many hours he had been wandering in the fog now.  It had gotten dark for quite a while then light again, so he figured it must have been at least a night and a day.  He was getting pretty hungry, and the only thing he had been able to find, much to his confusion, were some potatoes that were simply scattered here and there, as if they had been dropped by someone.  He ate them.  Raw.
 
He passed what appeared to be a rumpled red-checked tablecloth and faintly heard music that seemed to be coming from the earth itself.  
 
Huh, he thought, must have been hallucinogenic potatoes.    He kept going.

Gandalf had ducked behind Saurman's chair still trying to sort out his pockets, without success. He fell over as another tickle blast hit him unexpectedly.
 
Since he was already down, he smacked himself with his staff and turned into a giant tortoise. Pulling his head, arms and legs inside he continued to rifle through the pockets of his robe.
 
The only stuff useful he found was a bit of string and a seriously dead chicken. How he didn't know it was there he didn't really know as it well and truly stank.  
 
The thwacked himself with the  staff again and returned to his normal state. Still behind the chair, he tied the chicken to the string and came out swinging!

Merry blinked at Frodo, then at the singing barrow-thingy, and then down at his rather feminine attire.
"Does this make my bum look big?" he asked Frodo.

Frodo blinked uncomprehendingly at Merry, then checked under his plate, in case there was a sticker.  Not that he was sure he would want whatever the doorprize was for this kind of tea party...
 
Something tickled. He reached up and pulled a large floppy fake hibiscus flower out from behind his ear and just sat and looked at it for a minute.  What in the world was going on?  If it was a dream, it was far too real.  Where were they?  Looking at the roots, it appeared to be underground...were they inside one of those forbiddingly spooky mounds?
 
He poured a cup of tea and added a squeeze of lemon to it, then poured one for Merry.  "Where d'you think our clothes went, Merry?  And how do we get out of here?" he whispered.  Slicing a tea cake with a leaf-bladed damasked knife that was laying on the table, he looked around carefully but the dim lighting showed no exits.  The  music was really getting on his nerves.
 
"Hey!" he suddenly hollered at the wight. "Cut it out with all that racket!"  He took a better look at their host. "Ewww....what happened to you? You look like you need a serious vitamin infusion...er...you're really pretty creepy-looking, you know....that's not really your real face is it? I mean, this is a joke, right?...."  His muumuu tangled around his legs as he tried to get up and back away from Rags.

Rags ceased his singing, and approached the hobbits, moving slowly and smoothly, as if floating above the floor.  He bowed to Frodo and Merry, saying in a deep, chilly voice, "Good evening!  I am your maitre d'eath.  I will be slaying you tonight.  Would you care to order off of the menu?" and with his boney, scaberous fingers, covered with dried skin like weathered parchment, he thrust small yellowed squares of paper into their hands, even Sam and Pippin's though they were not yet awake.  "I'll give you a few moments to decide.  Enjoy your tea."  And he drifted away into the darkness.
 
Frodo and Merry looked at the papers in their hands, and their eyes grew wide with horror.  Listed on that parchment were three hundred and sixty five different ways to die, all more hideous and terrible than the last.
 
At the bottom of the paper, there were the words, "Join our Club!  Experience every kind of death once and become a charter member of the Death of the Day Club!" and then the note, "Parties consisting of 8 or more, gratuity will be calculated at 15%."

Merry gulped and his face grew as white as his pinafore.  
'Fr-Frodo, just look at the ways to die on the list," he whispered. "' You will eat every cookie that every hobbit lass in Buckland who wants to marry you bakes for you, and you'll eat until your insides explode.' An-and look at number 215- 'your pictures in these dresses will be hung up for all to see in the public room at your local tavern and your reputations will die an instant death.' An-and number three hundred...' You will listen to your cousin Peregrin recite every single cousin in his family tree- in six languages until you perish from boredom!'

Merry rolled up the list and whacked Frodo with it. "That's what I get for following you on this trip!' he wailed. "How are we going to get out of here?"

Frodo ducked away from Merry's whacking.  "Oh come on! This can't be for real...."  He looked around the place, glanced again at the menu and shuddered.  No, he didn't want to imagine what it would be like to die by smothering in carrot-and-raisin salad.   "You feel along that wall, and I'll feel along this one - there's got to be a door or a hole or something somewhere. Maybe we can dig our way out with these knives, or with the tea spoons...keep an eye out for our host, though...brrr, he gives me the creeps!"
 
They thumped and pried and dug at the walls in futility for several minutes,  but only succeeded in bringing down a shower of loose dirt on their sleeping companions.
 
"Hey, look here Merry! It's a sort of airhole or something - a ventilation pipe!  That means it must go outside, and maybe someone would hear us and help us!"  Frodo put his mouth to the pipe and hollered into it. "Hhhhheeeellllp!" 

Sam awoke by the sound of Frodo yelling. "What's going....?" He let out a yelp....a quite girlie one at that. "What in Mordor's name am I wearing??" He glared at Frodo and Merry. "What did you do to me?"
 
He noticed the piece of paper in his hand and looked at it. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He completely forgot about the flowery frock he was wearing.
 
"....'you will be forced to listen to Bill the Pony's life story as you eat Goldberry's famous "Tuna Surprise" '.......Mr.Frodo? What is this? It can't be true!! WHAT IS GOING ON!?"
 
Sam was becoming hysterical.
 
Merry shoved Frodo aside. "Frodo, with that wimpy squeaky voice of yours, no one will ever hear us! Besides, I know how to get us some help nice and fast!"
Merry cleared his throat, swelled his chest, and bellowed, "GOLDBERRY IS THE WORST COOK IN ALL OF MIDDLE EARTH! SHE'S SUCH A BAD COOK, THE FLIES CHIPPED IN TO FIX THE SCREEN DOOR!"
Merry paused, then pushed his head in further and yelled, "AND SHE WOULD WEAR DRESSES THAT MATCHED HER EYES, BUT THEY DON'T MAKE BLOODSHOT DRESSES!"
He pulled out and faced his astonished friends with a triumphant grin. "If that doesn't bring Tom Bombadil running, nothing will!"

Merry's panic-stricken shouting awoke Pippin.
 
"Hey, what's all the racket for?....er Frodo what have you done with my clothes?" followed by a brief gulp as the others merely looked grim and pointed various fingers at various items on the 'menu'
 
 
"Oh...I see" he grabbed one of the sword-like cake slices and stood in the shadows by the dark archway that lead off beyond the table. "When I hit him we'll just shove off through the kitchens" then in his best Tookish tones Pippin called out "Waiter!" 

Rags was in the kitchen, sharpening his scythe with long even strokes the way Deadie had taught him.  He had heard the guests calling out and whispering in their delicious terror, and he had decided that they had had enough time to choose their prefered deaths.  He straightened his shroud and checked to make sure all his facial bones were still in place, then began creeping back into the parlour.  
 
He did so hope that they weren't going to opt for the self-service buffet.  Sepuku wasn't nearly as much fun as decapitation....

As the dark figure swished in through the arch, Pippin brought the sword down hard and fast, the way papa had shown him how to chop wood.  
 
Unfortunately this meant the blade came down in a hurry (it was a little on the large size for him).  
 
Thus it made a bonk noise on the skull, followed by a rap as the jaw was knocked askew and the a clatter as various arm and wrist bones were sent flying.  
 
All of which was followed by a faint doiiing as the figure's momentum sent it tripping over the sword.
 
The green glow now showed a rag-clad distinctly emaciated set of legs poking out from under the table.

The red and gold damascened knife, now a sword in a hobbit's hands, came down on Rag's boney head and sent his jaw bone flying, knocking out both of his bulgey eyes and snapping off his right hand.  He then tripped over the blade gone heavy in Pippin's hand, and tumbled beneath the table.
 
He laughed, a haunting sound without his jaw.  It had been years since anyone had killed him.  It was like old times again!  He writhed from under the table, searching for his rolling eyes.  This was going to be a lot of fun. Merry stood in the corner, watching Pippin with wide eyes.
He put a hand over his heart, looked heavenward and sighed, "My little boy is growing up."

He glanced around. "Nice work on Bonehead over there, Pip. Now where's our Fearless Leader and his tater-tossing sidekick?"

Meanwhile somewhere in the forest,..a chase through the treetops...

Elrohir pursued his fleeing script through the trees, cursing at the laughing squirrel who had stolen it.  Elladan paced him below on their horses, calling encouragement and taking candid snapshots of his brother whenever he did something un-elflike and graceless.
 
Elrohir was just gaining on the little monster when suddenly the branch he was standing on gave way, and he tumbled to the ground at the feet of an apparation.  Elladan dismounted and came forward to help his brother stand up, his own mouth gaping open in shock.
 
"I... I don't believe it!" gasped Elrohir, "It's... The Director!!"
 
Two bare feet, naked bowed legs covered with coarse hair, a pair of livid bermuda shorts and a violently purple shirt, topped by a wild head of hair with beard to match; The Director looked at the tall elven lads and adjusted his glasses, then glanced down at the squirrel-gnawed script in his hands.  He shouted over his shoulder, "Phillipa?!  I think we got a couple of yours over here!  I thought we agreed to keep a leash on the elves until we got to Rivendell?"  
 
He squinted at the two for a moment, then sized them with his thumbs and forefingers.  "You know... you two would not make half-bad.... um!  Hey, you guys ever think of being in the movies?"  He clapped his meaty hands on their shoulders, steering them toward the trailer parked in the trees with a sign on it that read "Extras: Bree"

Meanwhile in the Tickle Tower of Isengard....

Saruman didn't know what hit him...literally. The chicken came flying so fast, that Saruman didn't have time to freeze it in middair.
 
He lay sprawled on his back in the middle of the floor as Gandalf continued to mercilessly whack him with a chicken-on-a-string.
 
"STOP!" Gandalf froze in his steps, the chicken dangling from it's string. Saruman stood up, and brushed himself off. Gandalf stood staring, unable to do anything except watch. Saruman let out a little giggle and ran out of the room. When he came back, Gandalf was horrified...
 
Saruman had in his arms, a pink, frilly, dress type thing, some sort of glitter make up stuff, and Gandalf was pretty sure he saw hair scrunchies on top of the pile Saruman carried....
 
Orcs came in and started taking pictures as Saruman dressed his fellow wizard up. He un-froze Gandalf just enough so that he could talk.....Saruman continued to laugh hysterically....

In the Barrow...

And now, back to our heroes . . . .  as they tremble at the sight of Rags and his many torturous death implements. (ooh gruesome . . . . Goldberry's tuna suprise, ewwwwww ) the laughing skull jumps around snapping at the hobbits feet, laughing manically . . . 

Who should come round the corner with a whistle and a tiddley om pom berry derry but,
*applause*
he came upon Rags in a blind fury, stamping and stomping,  
 
"argggghhhhhhhhh why you lil, om pom berry derry DOL!"  
 
But Rags dodged his every step, stomp and stamp, (the ones you dont have to lick)  
(sorry if I'm taking character liberties here . .. . .)
 
Tom: How dare yee curse my wonderful Goldberry derry dols cooking, and she is the most be-a-u-tifil lil  
   lady ever, bloodshot indeed .  ! grrrrrr
Rags:BUT I . . .
Tom: OH HO! So now you want to apologise . .
Rags: I never . . .  
*dodges Tom's foot*  
Rags continues: Ow, said those things . . .  
 
Tom stopped and stared, jaw dropping.
Tom: Who did?
Rags: Them, they did it, (indicating the hobbits)
 
Tom grabbed the sword and leaped towards the hobbits, hacking and slicing, he  picked up Rags' giggling skull and chucked it at 'em, hitting Merry square on the back as the hobbits fled for their lives . . . .  . Tom crashed after them still clutching the sword.
From his position on the ground Rags head cackled and mused to himself, (well the bit of him that's present and accounted for anyway )

"Must add that one to my list, axed and hacked by madman. Then carted off to apologise profusely to Goldberry, who will take it in her heart to forgive you, and consequently adopt you, . . . . . you will die as her offspring  . . . "*he shuddered* "ewwww, thats not nice,  I LOVE it!"

As Merry fled for his life with the other hobbits (and now genuinely regretting all that stuff he'd said about Goldberry's cooking) he kept looking wildly behind him, above him, while turning his pockets inside out and desperately dodging a thrown tibula and femur.
When Pippin asked him what he was doing, Merry said, "I'm looking for the plot, because I don't have the foggiest notion what's going on!"


Trotting out the hole Bombadil had made, as soon as he'd begun jumping on their raggedy skeletal - but obviously well-trained - waiter Pippin tripped over a fat, badly bound book of papers. Wondering what it was and how it had come to be there, he'd paused and while wondering why the others were taking so long, idly flicked the pages...
 
As it was the others soon came running too, followed by a sword waving Bombadil (oh great they've upset him too!).  
 
He joined the others as the trotted around the monolith beside the waiters mound. Merry's furious pocket searching begged the obvious question as Pip jogged along beside him, at Merry's retort Pippin waved his new book at him:
 
"Why not have a shufty at this then, its a book called "LotR Script Version LXII- Elrond's Copy" maybe that will help, we're in it, but doing something else! 

Meanwhile....back in Rivendell....

Elrond reclined by the swimming pool on his terrace in his Agent shades, sipping a frozen miruvorita while trying not to poke his eye out with the little paper umbrella.  
 
The air was too nippy for swimming but just right for a graceful lounge in a stunning tank and shorts combo with color-coordinated casual robes.  He had gotten an unexpected break from his work on the new Matrix movie (somebody had to work to support all those layabout elves, you know) and was enjoying a quiet moment away from the hassles of secluded valley management and elvish dole disbursements. He knew he would soon be dragged back to reality with all the planning he had to do for the upcoming council, but for now he was enjoying an Elrond moment before the rest of the elves realized he was back.  
 
He was browsing through Varda Star Line and Eressean Cruises brochures when suddenly an icy droplet slid down the back of his neck. Elrond jerked his  head up to come face to face with a brilliant, crystalline dragon head, so bright it nearly blinded him. Another drop formed on the end of the dragon's shining fang, but before it could fall Elrond screamed like a little girl and leapt to his feet ... 

"Delivery for Mr. E. Peredhel," said a rather scruffy and unattractive dwarf pushing the wheelbarrow containing the oversized ice sculpture.  The dwarf's nametag on his coveralls said "Hi my name is Boing" in the Common Speech, Sindarin, and some chicken-scratch Elrond assumed to be dwarvish. The sun beat down on the ice dragon, which was beginning to puddle.  
 
"But I didn't order any ..." Elrond took a closer look at the receipt on the clipboard the dwarf handed him to sign and fumed. He recognized Elladan's mallorn card number. "I thought I'd had that cancelled," he muttered. Not only had they stolen his script, but apparently the Elbrats had sneaked his production schedule and planned a big party in the house while the old man was out of town. Either that or they were cooking up some prank involving an ice dragon the size of Galadriel's monthly hair care products bill that Elrond shuddered to contemplate.  
 
"Look, it says Mr. E. Peredhel on this order form, and you're Mr. E. Peredhel aren't you?" said Mr. Grumpy Dwarf. "It was frozen when it got here -- if it melts on your doorstep, that's your problem. No refunds!"

Not unaccustomed to unpleasant surprises from his sons, Elrond signed the receipt and fumbled in the pocket of his robes for some change to tip the delivery dwarf. Finding nothing in his pocket but a linty altoid and an eyebrow tweezer, Elrond led the way into the house.  
 
He had to admire (grudgingly) dwarvish ingenuity. Transporting an ice dragon all the way to Rivendell took some skill. Elrond glanced at the invitation list lying on his desk nearby. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to include the dwarves in the council after all ... Elrond tossed a couple of coins in the dwarf's direction and thought about sending an invitation with the little guy. Boing scrambled madly on the floor after the coins, then straightened, gave a satisfied belch, and scratched his rear with his clipboard. Naaaah, thought Elrond, quickly covering the list ...  
 
He glanced at the dwarf up and down trying to determine his origins. "Lonely or Blue?" Elrond asked.
 
The dwarf stepped back with a suspicious look. Elrond, remembering that dwarves, being like all creatures inferior to elves, must naturally be rather dense, said slowly and clearly, "From whence came you?"  
 
Relieved, the dwarf introduced himself with a smile and deep bow. "Boing of the Lonely Mountain, at your service."
 
Elrond, always the polite host, bowed in return. "Elrond Peredhel, former herald of Gil-galad, now master of the Last Homely House west of the mountains, at yours and your family's." He might be a stuck up prat, but he at least knew the proper forms of etiquette.  "I hadn't realized Dain's folk had branched out in to ice sculpture. How did you manage to get that thing all the way from the Lonely Mountain without melting?"
 
Boing gestured to his refrigerated all terrain vehicle parked at the gate and shrugged. "Well, since we got rid of that dratted Smaug, we've kinda had a hard time keeping the old place warm. Seemed only natural."  
 
Boing returned to his delivery truck as Elrond instructed a passing elf to wheel the dragon into the twins' room. A half melted ice dragon in their beds when they got back from Isengard seemed a proper way to welcome them home, Elrond thought. 

Frodo was still a bit stunned with the rapid change in their fortunes and the bizarre way it was coming about.  When the bones started flying, he grabbed the two knives off the table to defend himself from the maniacal Tom, just in case.  Dodging around the mayhem, he stumbled out into the foggy daylight after the others and headed for the monolith, hoping they could at least hide behind it.
 
Something tugged at his foothair and ankle almost tripping him. If he had not been a hobbit, he might have thought he was tripping on his shoelaces. He kept running, but looked down at his feet only to shriek and begin a strange hysterical dance that most people only engage in when they have discovered that a hornet has flown down their shirt and is heading for their pants.  Screeching, twisting, flailing and jumping he came at the others, a pale, flopping skeletal hand clinging to his ankle.
 
"Get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off!" he cried wildly, shaking his foot (and hand) in the air near the others.   If he hadn't still been armed with a knife in each hand they might have done so, but as he was looking like a Ginsu commercial on speed, they turned and ran from him instead.  He followed them out into the foggy downs, still shrieking and batting at the hand.

As they ran pell-mell into the night, Merry hoped that no one would hear Frodo's girly shriek and think that they were related.
As they raced along, Merry tried to grab at the bony hand and wrist and complained, "No fair hogging it Frodo! That was your problem the whole time we were kids, you would never give me a hand with anything, and I guess you're not starting now!"

Frodo suddenly stumbled just enough to cause his muumuu to whip forward, tangling around his legs and sending him sprawling onto the turf.  Merry, barely avoiding following suit with his voluminous pinafore, leaping past him. The bony hand, whipped loose by the force of Frodo's fall sailed smack onto Merry's back where it promptly set about untying his big floppy eyelet bow.
 
Unheeding of Merry's cries, Frodo just lay there for a moment and gasped for breath, he was so relieved at successfully unhanding his feet, and grateful that the garbled rhyming yells of Tom had faded off into the fog.  He clambered back up just in time to witness Pippin running full-speed smack into one of the grazing ponies with a thud and a multi-colored fluttering of spare clothing from the air-bag like explosion of the pony's saddlebag.  The pony gave a small "oof," paused in surprise with its mouth still full of grass and then slo-o-o-o-w-w-ly tipped over.  
 
Lifting his skirts, he ran forward to gather up a welcome change of clothes.

In Isengard...

Gandalf was horrified, all of the sudden, to find his feet stuck to the floor. He would have fallen over at the quick stop, but his entire body was frozen in place.
 
He tried to yell as Saruman wheeled about and ran from the room, but he couldn't even do that. His eyes tried to widen in terror as Saruman returned and with papparazzi! He wailed silently. He'd never live this down as it was and now pictures?
 
Gandalf felt his face unfreeze. "SARUMAN! If you even THINK you are going to put that dress on me you can just forget it! I'm not that kind of wizard and you know I hate the color pink."  
 
Gandalf wailed and railed and even went so far as to say a naughty word or two, but all Saurman did was laugh harder and ended up calling for a few of his minions to help with the finishing touches like fluffing up the bows and getting the necklaces to hang just so. Once that was done the Evil Evil wizard called in his hairstylist. The ratty tangle of hair and beard... well they just HAD to be dealt with.
 
All the while there was no less than two orcs snapping photos. Gandalf wanted to crawl away and hide, but he still couldn't move.


Meanwhile, Merry successfully got the hand off his eyelet bow and was now trying to teach it to sit up and beg.  
"It'll make a great conversation piece when we get home," he explained. "I need a good name for it, though. Hmm...how about...Bones Brandybuck?"
While he thought, the bony hand thoughtfully scratched his head for him to help stimulate thought.
Then Merry shrugged, stuffed the hand in his pack, and rooted through the capsized pony's pack to find clothes more suitable than his now-very-stained pinafore.

Frodo was grateful that the muumuu was so loose as it took little effort to convert it to a changing tent, preserving their modesty as they slipped into less ridiculous clothing.  The fog was lifting slightly and he could see what looked to be the edge of the Road off to one side, as well as their missing ponies patiently cropping the weeds that grew alongside it.
 
"Sam!" he said, tugging his belt and cloak into place at last. "Get that pony up. Let's get out of here before anything else happens to us.  Gandalf should be waiting for us in town, and it's getting late! Merry, give Sam a hand, will you?"