If LotR Had Been Written By Someone Else!?

Cafe Society
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302

LOL!! Yay more Shakespeare! Awesome, Lady_Lyonesse. Oh, and Macadamia (Oooh), the Matrix one made me die.

Here–to continue from my Hamlet, yet MORE excerpts from
Bard of the Rings
Aragorn and Arwenet

Aragorn: But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Arwen is the Evenstar.
Arise fair star and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou, still fair, art much more old than she.
Be not her maid, since she be envious.
E’en though you’re o’er three-thousand you’re still hot,
And not just well-preserved, like mortal chicks.
It is my lady, oh it is my love!
Oh, that she’d stay in Middle Earth…

Arwenet: Oh Aragorn, Aragorn.
Wherefore art thou Aragorn?
Deny thy Gondor and refuse thy Bane.
‘Tis but thy Bane that is thy enemy.
What’s in a Ring? It is not hand, nor foot,
Nor shield, nor… sword… nor any other part
Belonging to a man! Oh, do not age!
Or if thou hast to, be but sworn my love,
And I no longer will be Elvenkind.

A Middle-Earth Night’s Dream

Gandalf: Is all our Fellowship here?
Bottomir: You were best to call them generally, man by man, according Elrond’s orders.
Gandalf: Here is the scroll of every man’s name which is thought fit, through all Middle Earth, to go on our quest to destroy the One Ring in Mordor.
Bottomir: First, Good Gandalf, say what the quest treats on, then read the names of the travelers, and so grow to a point.
Gandalf: Marry, our quest is The Most Lamentable Wanderings and Cruel Quest of Frodomus and Gamgee. Now, answer as I call you. Bottomir of Gondor!
Bottomir: Ready! Name what part I am for and proceed.
Gandalf: You, Bottomir, are set down as yourself, a warrior who goes a little loopy over the one ring and dies most gallant for honor.
Bottomir: That will ask some tears—
Gandalf: Samwise, the gardener?
Sam: Here, Mr. Gandalf.
Gandalf: Sam, you must take Gamgee on you.
Sam: What is Gamgee, a wandering knight?
Gandalf: It is the hobbit that Frodomus must love in a strictly non-homosexual way.
Sam: Nay, faith! Let me not play a hobbit! I just shaved my feet!
Bottomir: Let me be Gamgee too! I’ll take a Rogaine footbath and speak in a monstrous little and strictly non-homosexual voice. “Gamgee Gamgee!” “Ah, Frodomus, my master dear! Thy Gamgee dear and gardener dear!”
Gandalf: No—you must be Bottomir… And Pippin, the hobbit, you the Moron’s part.
Pippin: Hahf yeu theh Moron’s part written? Pray yeu, if it be, give it meh, foor I am sloow of stuhday!
Gandalf: You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but one-liners.
Bottomir: Let me be the Moron too! I’ll be adorable and surprised and Scottish so that it’ll do any man’s heart good to see me! I will make reference to pints and second breakfast that I will make Lord Elrond say, “Let him be comic relief again! Let him be comic relief again!”
Gandalf: And you should do it too terribly. You would fright the audience and the teenage girls would shriek. Besides, you can play no part but Bottomir; for Bottomir is a sweet-faced man; a pretty darn hot man with a strange but unfailing appeal to a small but fanatically loyal fan base. Therefore thou must needs be Bottomir.
Bottomir: Well, I will undertake it.
Legolas: Crebainfromdunland!
Everyone: What?
Gandalf: Masters, here are spies of Saruman! Meet me on the Pass of Caradhras, for if we meet in the Gap of Rohan, we will be dogg’d with orcs! I pray you fail me not!
Bottomir: We will meet, and there may we be avalanched most obscenely and courageously! Take pains, bring the ring. Adieu!

303

Just some ideas:

Don Quifrodo is an old, gentleman hobbit who has read one too many romances (in the old literary sense) about perilous quests and ultimate struggles between good and evil. One day he comes across a golden ring (his own, of course) and imagines it to be a repository of great evil power. Misunderstanding the warnings of the kindly Padre Gandolfo (whom he takes for a wizard), he persuades his trusty though dubious servant-hobbit [whose name escapes me] to set off to destroy it.

Along the way Don Quifrodo manages to rope a couple of his juvenile nephews (or cousins) into his deluded scheme and falls in with various prosaic individuals (tradesmen, merchants, village lasses, etc.) whom he believes to be elves, dwarves, kings, Elvish queens, and such. One night early in the story he battles it out atop a lone hill with a circle of ancient standing stones that the thinks are evil undead kings of men, managing to cut his shoulder quite badly on the sharp edge of one. (You get the idea, perhaps.)

This could use a lot of development but perhaps one of you can make something fun along these lines…

304

Yet more! I give you

Disney’s The Little Elfmaid

Part of His World Soloist: Arwen

Look at this stuff. Isn’t it neat?
Wouldn’t you think Rivendell’s just complete?
Wouldn’t you think I’m the elf, the elf who has everything?
Look at Imladris—treasures untold—
How many wonders can one safe haven hold?
Looking around you, you think,
“Sure, she’s got everything!”
I’ve got dresses and statues aplenty,
I’ve gazebos and gardens galore.
You want Evenstars?
I’ve got twenty.
But who cares… no big deal… I want moooooooooooooore!

I wanna be where the people are,
I wanna see, wanna be, a mortal—
Walking around getting—what do you call it?—Oh, old.
Living forever you don’t get far.
Aging’s required to love my Lord—all
The elves say that I’m crazy for saying I’m sold—
But out where they live,
Out where they die,
Out there were Aragorn can be all mine—
Aging but free,
Wish I could be…
Part of his wooooooooooooooooorld!

What would I give
If I could live out of these borders?
What would I pay
To spend a day Strider’s land?
Betcha offhand
They’d understand.
They wouldn’t dash the hopes of their daughters—
Telling them to
Take the trip to
The Gray Havaaaaaaaaaaans—Aaaand…
I’m ready to know what the mortals know!
Ask them my questions and get some answers!
Like “What’s a wrinkle? And how does one cover age spots------?”

Oh, I have the hots
For this mortal guy
And I want Aaaa-ragorn and I—
Aging but free…
Wish I could be…
Part of his woooooooooooooooooooooorld…

305

Snippet from “Leave it to Frodo” (This one really won’t stand up to much scrutiny.)

Dad to Wally: Well, son, you’ll be moving on to High School next year. Don’t you think you’ve outgrown something like a Secret Decoder Ring, even one as unique as this?

Wally But golly, Dad, I’ve had it forever–ever since I found it on that Boy Scout campout.

Dad: Now Wally, you know good and well that you won it from Eddie [= Gollum] playing cards–and you really shouldn’t have been betting to begin with. Isn’t that all the more reason to let your brother have it?

Wally: Aw, Dad… But if you really want me to, I guess I can give it to the Beave. [Gives the Ring to his brother, tousling his hair as he does.] Here, kid. Be sure and take good care of it!

Beave/Frodo: G-gee, Wally, Thanks!
…

(Later, Eddie slyly enters the house to try to get the Ring back, but runs into June Cleaver):

Eddie: My, what a lovely ring you’re wearing, Mrs. Cleaver!

306

“Choose life. Choose a side. Choose a quest. Choose a fellowship. Choose a fucking big sword. Choose elven cloaks, horses, mallorns, and rings of power…choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are and why you’ve got to destroy the fucking thing. Choose sitting by a fire listening to mind- numbing, spirit-crushing ballads, stuffing fucking lembas into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable volcano, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats who left home with you. Choose a future. Choose life…But why would I want to do a thing like that?”

307

How do people get to this dark and horrible land?

308

Jane Austen:

“If we thought alike of the Dark Lord,” replied Frodo, “your representation of all this might make me quite eary. But I know the foundation is unjust. Sauron is incapable of willfully destroying the world; and all I can hope in this case is that he has been misrepresented.”

“That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea, since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe him to be misreprented, that is is all an error and will soon be able to be hushed up, by all means. You have now done your duty to him, and must fret no longer,” replied Gandalf. “And doing your duty by your friend, will you not throw the ring into Mount Doom and best suit your own happiness? If, upon mature deliberation, you find the misery of disobliging the Dark Lord is more than equivelent to the happiness of saving the world, I advise you by all means to stay home and await the Ring Wraiths.”

“But, my dear Gandalph, how can you talk so?” said Frodo, faintly smiling. “You must know that though I should be exceedingly grieved at his disapprobation, I could not hesitate to throw in the ring.”

“I did not think you would; and that being the case, I cannot consider your situation with much compassion,” said Gandalf.

309

Has anyone done Faulkner yet? :slight_smile:

Up in the sky we could see them flying. Now there are seven black circles tall in the sky. Mr Frodo is my master but he doesn’t have broken legs. Mr Frodo’s mother is a horse but Mr Frodo isn’t a horse so how can that be. I had a horse but Bill is not now.

Gollum is not IS, either. We were going to destroy the ring but Gollum is a fish. Mr Frodo’s mother is a horse but Gollum is a fish.

Mr Frodo wants to stop. We cant stop. Now there are nine black circles tall in the sky. We cant stop. Mr Frodo, I say. Mr Frodo.

MR FRODO SMELLS LIKE TREES.

If Sauron catches Mr Frodo then is Sauron was? I am is, but maybe is was and I dont know. On the ring are elvish letters on both sides but with no back. I dont know what that is. Is that why you are laughing Gollum?

“Yes yes yes yes yes, precious.”

Gollum is a fish.

When you fall into the Cracks of Doom you can see your shadow rising up to meet you. That is the last thing you see and then nothing. All Hobbits at the end see their shadows rising to meet them.

The ring is WAS. But if it is how can it be was? I am is but the ring was were. Is that why you are laughing Mr Frodo?

“Yes yes yes yes yes.”

310

Whoops, sorry treblif, I hadn’t read all the way through the thread yet.

And the “Rings” rewrite of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Bells”? Absolute genius!!

311

Would anyone care to try “Apocalypse Now”?

312

Oh! This is so great! BUT! You’ll just have to do Terry Pratchett! I simply can’t believe you’ll have forgotten him!

313

from http://www.snopes.com/literature/onering.html

Claim: The once existed a ring which could turn people invisible

Status: False

Examples:

Origins: This particularly insidious meme first appeared sometime at the start of the second age from a rumour that the Dark Lord Sauron had apparently create a ring that could rule all other rings. This rumour was spread via word of mouth, apparently encouraged by Sauron himself to project an image of power. Its quite obvious that a clerk during the war of the 2nd age decided to have some fun with the rumour and put down the said magican ring as an object of pluder for some laughs. A tell talesign of this is that he list many effects of the ring that Sauron did not have himself. It is quite clear from several documents during the said age that Sauron was NOT invisible when he appeared in public, something which clearly contradicts the report.

This rumour seemed to have died down after the death of Isildur and, except for a couple of noted conspiricy theorists, nobody paid much attention to it for over 1000 years.

The rumour resurfaced again, however, during the battle at the end of the 3rd age. It is quite obvious that the appearance of the ring was used as a convenient political device to explain away the fact that Sauron so mysteriously disappeared just when the battle was going so well. Additional powers like invisibility neatly sidestepped tricky issues such as how “Frodo” managed to get into Minas Morgul. Unfortunately, this story has turned from allegory into fact these last couple of years and it is now widely beleived to be fact.

Several inconsistencies in the story, however, clearly distroy it. For example, in “the diary of Frodo”, Frodo notes cleary how

Since it has been proven that Balrogs don’t have wings, this conclusively proves that Frodo’s story was made up.

It would be tempting to think that such a story was true, a story of a tiny hobbit prevailing against impossible odds. Also contained, is a tiny bit of magic which we imagine would make life just a bit more bearable.

Last Updated: 24th December 2002

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314

Addendum to Snopes reference above:

… except for a couple of noted consipircy theroists, nobody paid mucha ttention to it

:smiley:

315

Someone should do Zelazny.

Nine Companions in Amber
The Hand of Sauron
Sign of the Prancing Pony

316

Technology has come a long way. During the First Age, only boats and horses where at the top of the industrial pyriamid. After the fall of Melkor, and the throw-down of Third World creatures, the Second age introduced an interest in smeltering. One of the top industries was a small company on the west borders called Elven Smythes Co. Although small and not well known, they attracted the interest of a reknowned corporate executive, Sauron. Sauron had cornered the market early on in the Second Age, and decided to increase his profits by buying out Elven Smythes and employing them for his own commercial gain.
By the end of the Second Age, Sauron had mass-produced 19 rings, each one weilding a special power. In the Northern countries, he had given out three rings that controled aspects of healing and nature.
In the Eastern countries, he gave seven rings to the miners, so that they might increase their productions.
For the Southern countries, Sauron sold nine rings. The lords of these countries were so impressed by the jewelry that they each bought shares into Sauron’s corporation, thus coming under his will.
In the end, Sauron poured all of his money and time into a Master Ring, one that would astound the world, and bring it to its knees.

One Ring to govern the world
One Ring to hold them accountable
One Ring to make them invest
And in the end, its non-refundable

By the Third age, Sauron's company had finally gone bankrupt and he was forced to surrender his Ring, and was arrested. But the time would soon come when he would activate his Ring, and finally rise to the power he so desired.
He should have never of left Hobbiton.

Frodo Baggins was sitting in a small area, surrounded by dzens of Dwarves, Elves, and a few humans. As he tried to focus his attention back to reality, Elrond, the CEO of Rivendell, was still speaking.
'Friends, we are on a journey. A jounrey that will either end in triumph, or disaster. And it all begins,' Elrond pointed to a golden ring, 'right here.'
One of the attending men, Boromir, stood up.
'Why can't we just use this Ring, and bring an end to this madness? Why?'
Gandalf, one of the top scientists of the decade, was present. An elderly gentleman, he did not take lightly to young, brash bussinessmen only interested in their own gains.
'Because of the dimensions,' bellowed Gandalf. 'The pressure built up by the use of this ring causes the psychological imbalance of all who carry it. If we wield this ring, it would bring a madness to the user, and all who come into contact with him.' Gandalf stared directly at Boromir. 'It would mean the end of the world.'
Boromir squirmed a little in his seat, unaccustomed to being rebuked.
317

Thread Title: Ask the Balrog
Posted By: Balrog

Poster: Balrog
Post: Well, I’ve decided to put up an Ask the Balrog thread because I feel that we Balrogs are grossly misrepresented. I gather most of you know Balrogs from the novel “Lord of the rings” but this is not an accurate portrayal of balrogs at all. So, ask away

Poster: jayjay
Post: How do you feel about being a Balrog? Do you think balrogs have been slighted?

Poster: Hello Again
Post: Do Balrog’s really have wings

Poster: astorian
Post: Geesh! Not another Ask the … thread, Havent we had enough already

Poster: jayjay
Post: Me again, how did you become a Balrog? If you were given a choice, would you still be a balrog or something else

Poster: gonzoron
Post: Are you ever going to reply

Poster: Threadkiller
Post: Whats it like living in Moria? Is it any different from the USA?

Poster: Balrog
Post: Hey sorry guys, I was away on a skiing holiday for the last couple of days.

Anyway: jayjay: I dunno, I guess I have always been a balrog so I dont know what its like to be different. I think Balrogs have been presented in a negative light more often than a positive one. I guess our appearence ust puts some people off.

Hello Again: No, I don’t have wings, That was made up by Tolkien.

jayjay: I was born a Balrog. While I like being a balrog and really could’t imagine being anything else, I guess being an Ent would be kind of cool

ThreadKiller: I guess the main difference between the USA and moria is that Moria tends to be a lot more quiet and secluded. The orcs aren’t so in-your-face and loud as the typical american.

Poster: Fingolfin
Post: What qualifications do you have to act as a spokesman for Balrogs? How many Balrogs do you personally know.

Poster: Balrog
Post: As far as I know, I’m the only remaing balrog on Middle earth so I would say that that is a pretty good qualification.

[sub] bleh, my hands are tired[/sub]

Note: All poster names were taken from the first page of this thread and inserted pretty much in chronological order. The content of the post has o relation to the actual poser.

318

Okay… I saw somebody wanted a Joss version done. I’m working on it… Thought I’d intro myself before I posted it. I’m new, LOL. No, but in all seriousness, I think my family is wondering what’s wrong with me, as I keep laughing loudly and telling them things I’m reading…

So I’ll join in the madness, complete with bad cultural refs. Yeah, I will.

319

In my post above on Stevenson, I forgot to add two very important Frodo quotes:
“To go gainst my dooty… I’s sooner loose my finger.”
“One more step Mr. Smeagol, and I shall dash your brains out… dead gollums don’t bite, you know.”

One on Sir Walter Scott:
The Hobbit of the Shire:

The male hobbit at eve, had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on The Green Dragon’s hill
And deep his midnight lair had made,
In lone Bage End’s hazel shade.
But when the sun, his beacon red,
Had kindled on Bagshot Row’s head,
The high pitch’d horses piercing neigh,
Resounded up the grassy way,
And faint, from further distance borne,
were heard the clanging hoof and horn.

Yell’d Gandalf the Grey, that wizard great,
“to your feet, hobbit, or you shall meet,
a death fit to make the strong grow pale
and a hobbit’s strong constitution fail!”
The tufty pated hobbit that was so chas’d,
Sprung from his feathery couch in haste
But ere that fleet career he took,
The crumbs from Bilbo’s cake he shook,
Like Bandobras Took, proud and high,
He toss’d his curly head to the sky,
A moment gazzed a down the dale,
A moment snuffed the tainted gale
A moment listned to the cry
That thickened as the nazgul drew nigh.

320

Chuck Yeagors’ Autobiography

We didn’t have allot of fancy elves around where I grew up. I always thought they were pretty, but something about them smelled a little weak. Not that there’s anything bad about them… actually, I like them allot because they make all those pretty things that girls seem to like.

Most of the girls where I grew up were good. Too bad allot of the guys didn’t notice. I learned as much as I could about them, and about the guys too. Seems allot of the people there just weren’t paying attention to each other.

Frodo was a good enough guy. He always knew what to do when a girl came around, so I was really surprised when that old Gandalf came around trying to ruin our fun. But Frodo, he needed something more. I liked the little fellow, so, if he was going to stop chasing after girls for a while, I figured I better go help him find whatever he’s looking for so we could get back to what is important: Girls.

But, whats-her-name is pretty nice lately… not worried about what others think, just making me feel good. After I get finished helping Frodo not get himself killed, I think I’m just going to hang out with her. Thats allot more fun than “finding myself”, or whatever it is these guys think they need to do.

So anyways, Gandalf doesn’t seem to like girls since you never see him with one. He probably thinks he’s saving the world or something. I wonder if he even noticed that girls like Rosie don’t care about all that.

That Gollum guy is the worst of the lot. All he does is talk to himself, and I think half of him is a girl. Poor guy. He should be put out his misery since he can’t seem to get over himself.

I sure wish frodo would find himself. I’m hungry and I miss Rosie. I was having fun looking at those crazy oliphaunts untill those damned bad-guys came along making thier messes. They make me so mad I just want to spit in thier eye, and that’s what I’ve been doing. It seems to make allot of the non-girl-lovers happy, if you catch my meaning. If I don’t bust these Orcs’ butts, I’m never going to get to hang with Rosie again.

Why are all these wimps looking at me funny? I’m just helping my buddy out so we can get home and have fun again. I don’t think it’ll ever be like it was, but if Frodo finds himself a Rosie, I’m sure our kids will do enough crazy stuff together and we’ll all get a big laugh out of it.

Look, Gollums’ sissy-side got the better of him. Ha. Looks like Frodo is free to go home now. I can’t wait.

God, I wish everyone would leave this whole ring subject alone. We went, We saw, We kicked butt. It was our job. No big deal. We aren’t heros, we were just a bunch of punks trying to pick up chicks and have a bit of fun. Of course, Rosie always knew what we we’re really about. She’s been really good about me leaving her at home and helping Frodo get over himself.

Too bad Frodo never did find whatever he was looking for. Maybe the elves and Gandalf and him are better off together. I’m sure they’ll find another giant mess to get into, begging your pardon.

As for myself, I keep plenty busy nowadays with sleeping, eating, drinking, and watching these kids pound they’re chests with the other boys. I have a feeling they’ll be running off soon to find some big adventure that most of the little girls will be impressed with. Not Pippins’ little girl though. She wants the boys to stick around but the boys just wont listen. Poor gal, she’s just like Rosie.

Rosie sure has grown old gracefully. If I hadn’t been playing “cops and robbers” with her once already this morning, I’d give her a good romp right now, but I’m kind of tired… Oops, she caught me looking at her again and here comes that smile. Good, she doesn’t want to play “cops and robbers” either. I’ll just look out the window for a bit and see if there’s any evil afoot. Nope. All is well. Maybe I’ll take a nap.

321

Hi everyone. This is my first post here. I think you are all so wonderfully talented! I laughed so hard my boss almost caught me surfing at work.

Here’s my humble offering to this fantastic thread. Sorry it’s so long, but this wasn’t a story I could leave unfinished:

The Ring

By Guy de Maupaussant

The date of the party was approaching, and Mme. Proudfoot seemed depressed and worried, although her dress was ready. One evening her husband said to her, “What’s the matter? The last three days you’ve not been yourself.”

She replied, “It’s rotten not to have a piece of jewelry, not a stone of any kind, to wear. I shall look poverty-stricken. I’d rather not go to the party.”

Her husband suddenly cried: “What a fool you are! Go to your friend, M. Frodo Baggins and ask him to lend you some of his jewels that he inherited from his uncle, Mad Bilbo, who used to vanish with a bang and flash and reappear with bags of jewels and gold! You know Frodo well enough to do that.”

She uttered a joyful cry: “That’s a good idea! I’d never thought of it!”

Next day she went to her friend’s house and explained her dilemna.

M. Baggins went to an old wooden chest, removed a burnished brass casket, brought it over, opened it, and said to Mme. Proudfoot:

“Take what you like, my dear!”

She tried the various ornaments in front of the glass, unable to make up her mind to take them off and put them back; she kept asking: “Haven’t you got anything else?”

“Yes, go on looking; I don’t know what you would like.”

Suddenly she found an ivory-coloured envelope containing a magnificent gold ring on a chain, and she wanted it so desperately that her heart began to thump. Her hands were shaking as she removed it from the envelope. She put it round her throat over her high blouse and stood in ecstasy before her reflection in the glass. Then she asked hesitantly, her anxiety showing in her voice: “Could you lend me that, just that, nothing else?”

“But of course!”

The day of the party arrived. Mme. Proudfoot had a triumph. She was the prettiest hobbit in the room, elegant, graceful, smiling, in the seventh heaven of happiness. All the men in the room seemed drawn to her as though by an unseen force. She danced with them with inspired abandon, intoxicated with delight.

She and her husband left about four in the morning (just a few scant hours before wheelbarrows would arrive to remove guests who had inadvertently remained behind). When they arrived home, she took off the wraps she had put around her shoulders and stood in front of the glass to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry: the golden ring on its chain was no longer around her neck.

They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of her cloak, in the pockets, everywhere; they could not find it. He asked: “Are you sure you had it on when you left the ball?”

“Yes, I fingered it in the hall at the Ministry. I had a strange urge to touch it.” They looked at each other, utterly crushed. Finally, her husband dressed again. “I’ll go back along the way we walked and see if I can find it.”

He returned about seven, having found nothing.

Next day, they went to the local jeweler, to ask if he knew where the ring had come from, and how a similar one might be obtained.

“That ring! One of a kind. You’ll not find one like it in these parts. Came clear from the Land of Mordor, so they say.” The jeweler was an old man with a long scraggly, white beard and curious grey robes. He flicked a bit of ash from his long-stemmed pipe and blew a perfect circle of smoke over the M. Proudfoot’s head.

“But we can’t let M. Baggins know that I’ve lost it,” wailed Mme Proudfoot. “Surely you know where I can buy one similar to his ring!

The jeweler, M. Gandalf, took pity on the poor creature. He placed his pipe on the counter and reached into a small drawer. Pursing his lips, he pulled out a worn map and unfolded it in front of the unfortunate Mme. Proudfoot.

“Here’s what I suggest. Travel quietly, and find a good guide. Also, take along a worthy Dwarf goldsmith – you’ll be wanting his help. Find your way to the Black Gate of Mordor, get in somehow (you’ll find a way, I’m sure) and make your way to the opening at the top of Mount Doom. There, you’ll have the good Dwarf forge you another golden ring.” Gandalf scribbled some words in a strange tongue on the corner of the map. “Make sure that these letters are engraved on the ring.” He folded the map and placed it in Mme. Proudfoot’s trembling hands. “That’s all I can do for you, Madame,” he said.

After making various barely plausible excuses to M. Baggins as to why the return of his ring would be delayed, Mme. Proudfoot and her husband set out on their journey. Ten months later, they returned. Mme. Proudfoot now looked an old woman. She had become the strong, tough, course woman we find in the homes of the recently tortured, or those who lived for years like rangers in the wilderness. Her hair was neglected, her skirt was askew, her hands were red. But she had the replacement ring to give to M. Baggins. He did not open the envelope to see it, but he did say, “You ought to have brought it back sooner; I might have wanted it.”

Mme. Proudfoot did not press him to look at the ring. What would he say if he detected the replacement? Would he think her a thief?

Some months later, still bent over and worn ragged by the toils of her great journey, Mme. Proudfoot found herself in Hobbiton, passing near the country estate of M. Baggins. In the fading light she could just make out the shape of M. Baggins and his gardener, M. Gamgee, traipsing down the road carrying rucksacks. She said: “Evening, Monsieurs! Where are we off to?”

M. Baggins paused, peering at the barely recognizable face of Mme. Proudfoot. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Well, no harm in telling you that we’re off on a great quest. My Uncle Bilbo left me a gold ring made by the evil Sauron. Turns out that its dreadfully dangerous, and I must go destroy it in the fires of Mt. Doom in the Land of Mordor.”

“But…but…” stammered poor Mme. Proudfeet, her heart nearly stopping its beat.

“Not to worry, I’m sure we’ll get it sorted out in no time,” M. Baggins continued.

“But M. Baggins,” Mme Proudfoot protested. “I never told you, but I lost that ring the night of the ball. I went all the way to Mordor to have another one forged, so that you’d never know. M. Gandalf the jeweler told me how to go about it!”

M. Baggins, deeply moved, took both Mme. Proudfoot’s hands. “My poor Melilot. Old Gandalf was mistaken. I never lent you the One Ring. The ring I lent you was made here in the Shire. It was only gold-plated – a mere trifle!”