Oobleck's throat was tiring quickly as Pippin (having just eaten well) continued to gain weight en-route. As a short term answer to this (seeing as he couldn't just eat him in turn), he lifted Pippin's tied hands up over his head and slung him around another orc's neck for a while.

"Gaaaaack!" complained Denny as Pippin's weight promptly compressed his greasy windpipe. "Why me?"

Ugluk grunted at both of them and snapped his pocket whip at thier feet to keep them moving. "If you don't like it, you can carry 'em like Arthur is, then. I got another one in yeller."

Oobleck looked over at Arthur Orc who was now trotting along with a potato-sacking pastel blue baby-orc pack slung across his chest, Merry's head only just visible over the embroidered patch proclaiming "Bundle o' Joy".

Merry was quite bored. He had tried counting the orcs. He had tried counting the warts on Arthur Orc's face. He had even estimated how many years it had been since they had bathed. There was only one thing left to do.

With all the power in him, he lifted his voice to heavens and started singing:

 "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family..."

"Rarrrrgh!" complained Ugluk vociferously. "Stop that foul squeaking noise, you cufflink!" As Merry showed no signs of stopping and Ugluk could not damage "the goods" so to speak, he fell to randomly smacking the next nearest target, the orc carrying the little creature.

Arthur, never too clever in the first place, was rapidly becoming addled as he dodged among the other orcs, a caterwauling hobbit strapped to his chest in front and a half-deranged leader walloping him on the head behind. They broke into the front, sprinting along with Merry singing at the top of his lungs in the lead. The end result greatly increased the overall pace of the orc-troop who were soon rollicking along at top-speed.

Panting along in the rear, Oobleck decided to plan ahead a bit and took up a large divot of turf which he inserted into the mouth of the one hanging around Denny's neck lest it join in with its companion. Who knew what it was, a war-cry perhaps?

If Merry wanted to provide a soundtrack while two of the orcs played tag, or keep-away, or whatever the game was, that was all well and good, but Pippin had other things on his mind. He was pleased to be traveling in any manner that didn't require him to walk, even if it meant bouncing against the chest of an Orc at every stride. The trouble with was, with his hands tied together and slung around the Orc's neck, he couldn't reach any of the pastries he had appropriated from the Crafts table and stowed in his pocket.

He had just opened his mouth to ask one of the Orcs if they would be stopping for supper soon when the Orc scooped something off the ground and shoved it in his mouth. Pippin tasted dirt, grass and.... mushrooms! He grinned as best he could around the mouthful of sod, and carefully began to chew.

Growing hoarse, Merry had to stop in the middle of his rendition of "Why Can't We Be Friends". Since Ugluk then stopped whacking Arthur over the head, the latter's brain cleared just enough to take action. A large hand was quickly placed over the halfling's mouth.

"'ey!" mumbled Merry through the barrier.

But Arthur did not loose his hold. The singing was stopped for good!

Just as Merry was about to protest, even though he knew it be incomprehensible, he took a deep breath and—great Tooks! What was that smell on this orc's hand? Could it be—might it be—it was! Arthur Orc smelled like lavender scented handsoap.

Suddenly remembering that Gandalf had told him that Orcs had come from Elves, Merry felt disturbed, and sunk as deep as possible into the baby carrier. He needed to escape.



The day fell into night and wore on interminably. The orcs continued their shuffling trot occasionally indulging in random bouts of sprinting across the rocks in the general direction of Rohan. Not that they wanted to go there, necessarily.

One of the larger orcs grumbled as he lolloped along between Denny and Arthur. "Ugluk u ronkbonk shoo-bop pushups Saruman globs babushka-ski" he offered in what might have been a polite conversational tone between orcs for all they knew. "Cufflink oog blog yuck snort," agreed Oobleck, pointing to Pippin where he was bobbing along.

"Grishnakh u keesh urgle-burgle waffle blobs! " snarled Ugluk from just ahead, leaving the hobbits to wonder if there might be breakfast offered to them after all. Their hopes were further raised by the appearance, drawn from a sack, of several tins of vaguley familiar appearance:

"Maggoty Bread," read the labels which featured a happily smiling maggot on a field of green. "Fresh from the Fields of the Maggot Family for over 150 years."

"Grarrh," said the large one, Grishnakh. "Didn't anyone bring the can-opener?" He lobbed an unopened can at Ugluk's head.



---

Aragorn, skipping merrily out of the forest, suddenly came upon the wide, barren fields of the Wold.

Crouching down to the floor, he placed his left ear strategically in the dirt, then picked up some of the mud and tasted it.

"Legolas! Gimli! The Ooggly-Woogglies with the Hobbity-Wobbities went toodilly-doodilly rapdily-shoedily overly-fastily thatily-way-e-e... e!"

"Ewe know, sum one should put pup a barning pine by that....Bike a fig red line write by it paying BARNING - LOW MINE ore something. You could ball bit a public health notice. When I'm sing I'm going two fake bat my worst decree!...Ant, musing my highly strained defective seasoning and stacking kills, I've forked pout witch way the Bobbits half gone!  hiss-a-way!  U know, maybe pea should putt brim on trees and plush brim frownhill...Or maybe we should bust slip and lope he batches pup."

Now Legolas tried his best to make what sense he could out of all Aragorn had just said to him but in the end he gave up since his hearing wasn't any better. And when he saw the Ranger skipping merrily away he picked up Gimli and once he had the dwarf securely tucked under one arm he gracefully ran after him. Then he stopped when Aragorn did once they had cleared the forest and watched in utter amazement while the Ranger began to eat mud. "No doubt something is lacking in his kibble," Legolas said softly to Gimli while he set the dwarf down on his feet. And after listening to Aragorn speaking in what sounded now like baby talk Legolas sighed.

"Aragorn please! Arwen may understand that but I don't!"

Gimli was heartily gladdened by the kindness the Elf had shown him. His embarassment was matched only by the soreness in his throat and jaw, having swallowed half of his hand upon impact from his fall. It would be awhile before he whistled at anyone, be they friend or foe. The Elf had unknowingly furthered the dwarf's embarrasment by suddenly hoisting him aloft like a sack of potatoes. He said nothing, knowing it was best they caught up with their ersatz leader, who had apparently lost his mind.

Gimli could see Aragorn now, hopping about like a sprite gone mad from honeysuckle wine. He tried speaking to the Elf, only to hear gibberish in exchange. He gave up, knowing his voice was painfully thin. Aragorn had veered sharply to the right of the lone stand of trees where he had found the cloth, and conked his head. Gimli assumed that Aragorn had found a proper trail, even if he was reeling about disturbingly.

They paused by those trees, wherein the Elf put Gimli down. As he padded about looking for some trace of the hobbits, he looked up as he walked under the wooden sign. The arrow pointing to Isengard was right enough, but Gimli could see that Aragorn's head had pulled the nails on the right side of the plank halfway out of the tree. The sign was now pointing one-quarter turn to the right of it's intended position. Aragorn had already run off on this mistaken course. Legolas had motioned to him, as he, too, trotted off after the usually redoubtable ranger.

Gimli tried shouting after them as he ran, but his injured voicebox wouldn't suffice. There was no recourse. The three hunters were heading full-tilt in the wrong direction. To make things worse, Aragorn had hit his head so hard, his vision was badly blurred. He thought he was heading toward Isengard, as the sign had said. After several hours of this, with no further hint of the halflings, it became apparent that the only thing they were headed for was a low ridge; one of a handful of rock outcroppings dotting the expansive plains.

They reached the ridge at the four hour mark, nearly half a days' light and time wasted. It was only as they ascended the ridge that the ranger finally stopped his forward motion (in all it's absurd forms). He looked out across the plain, as Legolas joined him. Gimli could hear them trying to communicate, as he struggled his way up the ridge. Once there, he explained the mixup with the sign, and watched helplessly as their faces sank in near despair.

They stood silently, looking out over the endless plain. No dust, no fume, no movement of any kind, and they now were a full day off course. No hint of the hobbits, or the malevolent Uruk-hai could be gleaned from the modest elevation of the ridge. Aragorn felt the thumping in his skull as he tried vainly to focus with any accuracy. He probably had a concussion. They finally resorted to talking up a solution to this mess, but Legolas had yet to regain his hearing, and Gimli could not speak above a whisper.

Again they fell silent, looking out over the grasslands as the afternoon sun began to fade. And again, they learned nothing of the Uruks, or their captives. Through accident, injury, and foolishness, the three hunters had this day been reduced to lesser rank. Each to his own shortcoming, they stood forlorn: See no Evil, Hear no Evil, and Speak no Evil. They descended the ridge slowly, with no spring in any step. They were fools this day, fools with many mispent miles between them and their furry footed friends...Rohan would never again seem so large...

Despite Gimli's protestations that he was headed in the wrong direction, which, after all, was about as likely to happen as a lobster needing a manicure, Aragorn was most definitely quite not sure he was convinced that this was most probably the possible direction they could or could not have maybe gone.

And people called him simple! Hummph!

He was the once and future King! He was the pinnacle of years of inbreeding and royal descent! He was gorgeous, dashing, charming, with a roguish quality that got the ladies' hearts fluttering. He was suave, sophisticated, keenly dressed and perfectly presented. He was a Man!

Inflated with a false sense of self-worth, some mild indigestion, and a rubber balloon he had found along the way, Aragorn set off defiantly into the wilderness... in a north-westerly-ish sort-of direction.

"Oi! Heffalump and Pointy-Ears! Keep up!" He shouted back while merrily skipping away. This journey lark was quite exciting really, as long as they didn't get any unforseen interruptions by the locals that is...

Legolas blinked. Something was amiss here he felt sure of it. But according to the script he was to simply keep running after Aragorn for he was the one who was suppose to know where they were going. Still he felt otherwise. Then Gimli started speaking in a strange falsetto voice and since his hearing was still messed up Legolas couldn't make heads or tails out what he was trying to say. So in the end the elf stuck with the script and ran after the skipping Ranger.

---

Ugluk's head wobbled from the impact of the can. "Grag! I have the can-opener, but now you don't get to use it!" He stuck his rather large and hideous tongue out at Grishnakh.

"I want the can-opener!" said Grishnakh. "If you don't give it to me, I'll... I'll...."

"You'll what?" sneered Ugluk.

"I'll tell on you!" he replied in a long whine. "Gimmee the can-opener! My master said we could have it!"

"Well, my master can whip your master. Pbbbbt!" Ugluk said contemptuously. "And anyone that says otherwise doesn't get the can-opener either!"

Arthur, Denny and Oobleck exchanged long looks. "But.... but... what will we eat?"

Oobleck had an epiphany. "Let's eat the cufflinks!"

"Cufflinks!" squealed Merry from the depths of the blue carrier.

"Yeah, cufflinks," said Ooblek. "Got a problem wi' dat?"

"Er—I—yes—look!" Merry's head peeked out just long enough for a hobbity finger to point vaguely east across the fields of Rohan. "Look! Cufflinks at 12:00!"

"But I'm hungry now," came a whine, followed by a very satisfying thwap as a companion helpfully readjusted his cerebral organs.

"Cufflinks!" shouted the rest, and they were off at another gallop.

Merry peeked through a hole in the carrier to see if he could find Pippin. What could his cousin be doing?

Pippin might have been startled, even frightened, if he had been following the Orcs' conversation and realized that Oobleck had just suggested himself and Merry for the main course at dinner. As it was, he was oblivious to it all, his entire mind focused on one thing: separating mushroom from sod.

Ever since Oobleck had stuffed the divot in his mouth, Pippin had been working carefully to spit out the dirt while retaining all of the scrumptious fungi. Now he looped his tongue around the last 'shroom, holding it tight while spitting and drooling out the last bit of sod. In the midst of spitting, he looked down. Lo! One of the 'shrooms had escaped, and was now nestled in a fold of his cloak!

Pippin squirmed against his Orc transport, trying desperately to reach the 'shroom without losing it. In a single heroic wiggle, he managed to impale it on the end of the Elven brooch... where it stuck fast, refusing to budge further. Pippin wiggled furiously, snapping valiantly at the 'shroom with his teeth, all to no avail. He caught the brooch in his teeth, tried wiping the 'shroom from the end of it, but as he pulled at the brooch, the cloak moved along with it, keeping the 'shroom safely trapped.

Finally, in a in a fit rage only a Took deprived of food can muster, he grasped the brooch in his teeth and ripped it from his cloak. Working it around in his mouth, he reached the speared 'shroom and and daintily slurped it in, spitting out the Elven pin as he did so. A satisfied smile crept over his face as he chewed and savored that very last 'shroom.

"Now then, what's for dinner?"

Gurganschlogg the orc finally caught up with the rest of his troop as they kept sprinting along over the rocks and into the squishy, whippy grasses of the borders of Rohan.

Ahead of him, the little ratlike thing that one of his companions had slung around his neck suddenly spit something into the air. He barely has time to register that a shiny something-or-other was airborne before him before it bounced off his fat nose, ricocheted downward off his glutinous belly and buried its point into his left foot.

"Zigeunerschnitzel!" he cried, hopping around in pain. He ripped out the pointy leaf-thing and flung it far to the northwest.

---


Despite their recent setback, there was nothing the misdirected pursuers could do but slog on, in what they hoped was the right direction. Aragorn was still prancing to and fro, although he generally seemed to be headed back toward the errant, much lamented sign, and the course correction they needed. Step by weary step they trod on, knowing time did not favor the captured hobbits. As they drew closer to the vicinity of the sign-bearing tree, the hunters paused. To their surprise and disbelief, they saw a most remarkable thing: two women, seemingly out of nowhere, stood side by side along their course. The women were beckoning to the hunters, as if familiar with them.

The tall one had an accent. Her arms were crossed, with her hands and index fingers pointing in opposite directions. She was shouting something--wait; yes, it was ''They went that-a-way!, whilst pointing in multiple directions. The hunters blinked, but they weren't decieved. Both women now pointed left and right simultaneously, while shouting ''they went that-a-way.'' They were both quite fetching. Confusing, but fetching. The shorter one was --what? No! She was mooning the hunters!

She had turned around, and flipped up the back of her gown, revealing a shapely pair of legs and a derriere' covered only by a pair of white granny panties, embroidered with large lettering which read ''Viggorias Secret.'' She covered the cryptic message, and her lovely legs, resuming her previous posture while pointing in 2 different directions. The hunters were stunned, Aragorn most of all, as the embroidered words rattled around his head. He felt a sense of great familiarity with those words, as if he'd known them all his life.

A trick! It must be a trick! A device of Saruman, no doubt. A ruse designed to slow them down, and misdirect them. Only years later would he come to believe that they were in fact a test. A test of his faculties, and mental fortitude during crisis. A test rendered upon him by the Valar themselves. He would pass the test, remarkably, this time, with the help of his companions, who agreed in spite of their ongoing communication problems, that this was a trick of Saruman. It had to be. Why else would they be waylaid by two strange women who were not in the book, movie, or script?

They would continue on, in spite of the temptation to tarry with these vixens, these erstwhile sirens, these shameless exhibitionists! As for the women, well, while Gimli believed he'd hear more of them along the way, his companions felt that it was back to central casting for them. They'd have to do better than granny panties if they wanted to bewitch a Ranger and an Elf Prince, that was for sure!

So, in spite of their bewilderment, these three paragons of misguided virtue plodded on in search of the actual trail. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps they could've dilly dallied with these mystery crumpets for awhile. Truthfully, though, Aragorn was locked into a long distance fling, Legolas needed only his own reflection for a private showing, and Gimli, well, he was holding out for a taste of Elvish beauty, from whatever direction it may come.

No, these decievers, these painted paramours upon the plain would have to reach deeper into their arsenal of brazen hood-winkery to ensnare the senses of our Manny, Moe and Jack, that was certain. The pursuit would continue, until the next time these jaunty jezebels could ply their trade in the path of such headstrong, inscrutable fellows. This was one Dwarf they wouldn't ensnare so easily!

There would be one consequence of this not so chance encounter, which would resonate into the far future. The day would come when Aragorn would have to reveal to Queen Arwen why he had insisted upon naming their daughter ''Viggoria.'' He had no answer for her...

---

Gurganschlogg soon caught up with his troop only to find them galumphing along in a fog of hunger, the more dimwitted among them (and there were several) looking for the mysterious cufflinks in the grasses so they could eat them. Arthur and Denny, each bearing what now looked to the rest to be a nice fat potential Hobbit-roast, were becoming the center of attention.

The fog of hunger wreathed their heads and obscured their vision as they blundered along into Rohan. Every one of Grishnakh's orcs were now teething on unopened cans of Maggoty Bread in hopes that one of them might be able to open them, while Ugluk plied his can-opener among his own cronies. Moods were getting foul. It was only a matter of time until...

Gurganschlogg, loyal though he was to Grishnakh, shook his stolen portion of Maggoty Bread out of its battered can (never mind how he got it...or the random orc parts that littered the trail behind them...). He took a bite, but the sight of Pippin's chubby legs kicking along beside him was too much.

He drooled bits of Maggoty Bread and flung aside the empty can.

"Entschuldigen Sie bitte!" he growled, elbowing Denny. "Mine turn!" He snatched Pippin from Denny and slung him around his own neck, grinning hungrily.

"Hey!" protested Oobleck, who had secretly been plotting to do the same thing but feared Ugluk's revenge. His voice rose in the whine of the classic tattler, "Uuuugluuuuuuk!"

The entire orc crowd rumbled to a faltering halt to see what would happen.

Pippin bumped along, trying to find any last bits of mushroom in between his teeth. As he could find no last tid-bits, the hungry Took imagined all the lovely foods that he would have had at home. Mushrooms, carrots, cabbages, potatoes, cake, . . .

Suddenly, he felt something wet drip onto his foot and being swung onto some other orc. Not understanding what was happening, he asked innocently,"Are we there yet?" But he heard himself drowned out by a whining voice. He therefore contented himself to settle in for another long ride.

---

It was now night. At least Eomer thought it might be night. As he stood to move, his head ached. Touching his fingers gingerly to his forehead, he exclaimed sharply and pulled the offending fingers back.

"Do you remember anything, Eomer Marshal?" Eothan's voice rang in his ears.

"The heavens were loosed and some great globe hit me, if I recall correctly."

"T'wasn't a globe," Eothain sighed, 'Wish it had been, maybe he would have stayed out longer,' the Rohir thought sourly. 'He'll probably start singing again.' He helped steady his Marshal. "'Twas an apple."

"An apple? Why on earth...? It was Eowyn again, wasn't it? Probably had a tangle in her hair and had a temper tantrum. Or mayhap it was a broken nail. She flings things when she's peeved, have you noticed?"

"Aye. I have."

"Well, then, if that's the kind of mood she's in, let us leave Edoras for a time. Let's see," the Marshal counted on his fingers, "how long do these tantrums last?"

"The last one was a month," Eothain interjected, weary of seeing Eomer forget the count and restart for the fourteenth time.

"We leave now," he bellowed and put his horn to his lips. The puffing out caused his head to ache fiercely. "Here!" he handed the horn to Eothan, "You blow this stupid thing!"

Within moments, magically (not really - the cast was busy saddling horses and gearing up actors (mostly actresses with beards) to set up for the next shoot) the long ride of the Rohirrim was to begin!!!

Wormtongue came scuttling around the corner of the room barely in time to see the back of Eomer going down the steps - well, his back and the rest of him also, of course... The horns began blowing as the Riders prepared to head off, who knew why this time... He cackled to himself and headed for the throne where the mummified King Theoden sat under a dark cloud of despair and uselessness. He reached up and shoved the cloud aside for a moment to whisper into the aged ear.

"There he goes again, your own nephew Eomer. Never stays or has anything nice to say, just comes long enough to eat your food, flops on the floor for a while then rides off, all high and mighty-acting. Tsk tsk tsk. Such a shame, how sad that your family has fallen to such lows. Must be something in the water. Here, let me mix you a nice drink now...."
---

Feeling a little dazed, somewhat confused, slighlty tipsey and a trifle indigested, Aragorn re-asserted his cunningly deduced bearings and gazed aimlessly into the distance.

Taking two steps forward, his mindless wanderings were suddenly interrupted by a sharp, searing pain in his foot.

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww eiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Methuselah Arkwright the Second, slap my thigh and call me Bertha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He began, screaming loudly at the top of his voice to match the indescribe pain in his foot. So indescribable that he could not even call it pain, it was more like some indescribable pain-like pain that was not quite as bad as pain but really ten-times worse than anything painlike could ever feel.

"Gimli, you chumurdgeonly looking sewer dweller! Pull it out! Pull it out! Legolas, you wild hoodlum of the west! Do something! ANYTHING!" He hollered *extremely* loudly while bouncing up and down on his right leg. For indeed, something bright, shiny, and pointy was firmly embedded in the sole of his left foot.

Now Legolas didn't need his hearing to notice that Aragorn was acting more disturbed then usual. And he was about to dismiss it as yet another indication that the Ranger's medication wasn't strong enough when he spied something bright, shiny, and pointy embedded in the sole of his left foot. Then the elf's eyes went wide in amazement and delight when he recognized what it was.

"Hold still you silly goose while I pull out one of the Hobbit's Lorien brooches you just happen to have step on!" Legolas said through gritted teeth while he stilled the bouncing man long enough with one hand so he could pull the brooch out with his other. "There now all better!" he said with a big smile as if addressing a child while he held out the brooch for Aragorn to see on the palm of his hand. "Obviously we're on the right trail of the hobbits," Legolas added while he then thought to himself "And closer to the end of this horrible brushless journey! Hopefully my hair doesn't look too mussed!"

---

The Rohirrim sang gustily as they followed their Marshal northward…

Ridin’ ridin’ ridin' ridin' ridin' ridin' Rohaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnn*

Keep ridin’ ridin’ ridin’ though the grass is hidin’
Orcs and beasts a runnin’ Rohan!
Through apples and poisoned water, and armour that is freezin’
Wishin’ a girl was by my side
All the things I’m missin’ like Theodred and Boromir
Nothin’s waitin’ at the end of my ride.

Move 'em on head 'em up
head 'em up move 'em on
Move 'em on head 'em up Rohan!
Cut 'em down ride 'em in
ride 'em in cut 'em down
Cut 'em down ride 'em in Rohan!

Movin’ movin’ movin’ though Theoden’s disapprovin’
Keep them Orcs a runnin’ Rohan!
Don’t try to understand ‘em, just shoot and kill and maim ‘em
Soon we’ll be livin’ high and wide
My bottom’s calculatin’ how many more miles
Are ‘for us ere we’re at the end of our ride.

Move 'em on head 'em up
head 'em up move 'em on
Move 'em on head 'em up Rohan!
Cut 'em down ride 'em in
ride 'em in cut 'em down
Cut 'em down ride 'em in Rohan!


Eomer started in confusion. Next to him rode….

Boromir!

How could this be – the man had take one of their horses, lost it and was somewhere north. How could he be riding beside him?

AND he was singing the refrain…. Ah! Eomer remembered with fondness, the refrain was the only part Boromir could ever remember….

---

From the tallest window in the highest room of the tallest tower of Meduseld, Eowyn watched her brother and his cronies ride off into… well, not really the sunset, but at least into the wide outdoors where the sun was setting and they didn’t have to deal with a mummified uncle and his slimy sidekick. She sighed, a very deep and wistful sigh, to cover the envy that gnawed at her.

Even as Eomer was riding off into the not-sunset singing the Rohan theme song, Eowyn began to sing her own song.

Look at this cage, isn’t it gilded?
What good’s a rose, in the dark, when it’s wilted?
Why do they think I’m the girl
The girl who has everything?

Look at these hands, what do they hold?
Nothing to show that I, too, can be bold,
Yet, looking at me they think
Sure, she's got everything.

Eomer’s fought in battles all gory,
He’s got honors and trophies galore.
While I’m sitting here tending our uncle...
There’s no glory...
Not enough. Trapped in here. I want more!

When's it my turn?
Where is my Love?
How in this place can I rise above?
Oh golly gee, wish I could be
Part of his world. 

(The song was shamefully stolen from The Little Mermaid and then mangled beyond recognition... and the author is entirely unapologetic.)

Wormtongue handed Theoden his carefully mixed all-organic drink with a squeeze of lemon and a bendy-straw, pausing to help guide the bendy part between the wrinkled lips. Somewhere in the background he could hear his beloved's voice lifted up once more in song and hoped that she would not cause any more of the sparrows in the rafters to explode. He pictured her, singing at the window with her lovely white teeth, the whites of her eyes...her lips... He was suddenly overcome with an irrestible urge to break out in song himself.

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me,
Why don't I eat some worms?
Long thin skinny ones, juicy short fat ones,
Itsy-bitsy fuzzy-wuzzy worms...

He quelled the urge, thankfully, and slithered out of the hall leaving Theoden twirling a little paper umbrella as he sipped his drink.

---

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Aragorn let loose a small exclamation of distress before promptly passing out from the excrutiating soreness.

Several hours later, he finally came to (with a pounding headache to boot, which had most likely come from Gimli's foot) and regained some of his normal cognitive reasoning skills.

"Foot! Pain! Sore! Anguish!!!!!!!" He muttered incoherantly before promptly passing out once more.

A few more hours later, and now quite definitely in the dark, Aragorn slowly woke himself from his stupor still feeling faint and womanish. His foot no longer hurt, but then again, he could no longer feel if he had a left foot left to feel. Slowly attempting to stand up, and then quickly falling over several times, Aragorn re-asserted his manliness and strove to push past the searing torture no matter what!

About three hours later he came to the conclusion that he couldn't.

Deciding instead to rely on his encumbant companions, Aragorn suddenly burst out for no particular reason:

We're off to see the Wizard
The Horrible Wizard of Is (engard)!

We hear he was a Whiz of a Wiz
If ever a Wiz there was (and is)
If ever, oh ever, a Wiz there was
The Wizard of Is is one because
Because, because, because, because, because
Because of those horrible things of His!

We're off the see the wizard
The Horrible Wizard of Is!

Legolas had no idea why Aragorn was going through such theatrics over such a tiny wound which the elf had already expertly doctor before covering it with a Band-aid. But then again the Ranger was an unstable soul so Legolas sat down on a nice patch of soft grass and made himself comfortable while he waited for the man to get out of his system whatever was possessing him now.

However when Aragorn decided to sing again Legolas covered his ears with his hands and curled up in a ball. "Will you please stop that caterwauling! I'll do anything you say just so long as you don't sing anymore!" the elf cried desperately over the Ranger's singing which if he hadn't been so distressed at the time he would have noticed that he was actually hearing the words correctly this time.

--

"The cufflinks are NOT to be eaten!" snarled Ugluk, waving his can-opener for emphasis. "My Master wants 'em!"

"But you have the can-opener," protested the slavering Grishnakh on behalf of his followers. "And we're hungry! So your Master will just have to eat something else!" Gurganschlogg's grimy face brightened at this and he began squeezing Pippin's legs to see where the softest parts were.

Grishnakh went to Arthur and unceremoniously cut the knots of rope that held the baby-orc-pack to Arthur's chest. Merry tumbled to the ground, bonking his head, and Grishnakh lifted him up with a drooling leer.

"B-b-b-ut didn't our Master say he wants to have 'em too?" stuttered Oobleck to Grishnakh. There was a mumbling among the orcs of both sides.

"I says put 'em down!" hollered Ugluk.

"Ich verstehe nicht, Nein Cufflink-fleisch?" gurgled Gurganschlogg with a confused look on his face. He considered Ugluk's determined stance with the can-opener and took one lick of Pippin's luscious little legs.

It was the last lick he ever licked before his personal licker was licked. Gurganschlogg fell to the ground goggling with a can-opener to his noggin and both factions of orcs looked at one another for a long moment before reaching the same conclusion.

"Bratwurst!"

Mustard began to fly.

As he rode upon the back of this new orc, Pippin found that no matter how hard he tried he could not get comfortable. At least the last orc has some cushion on him. This one was all bony with no kind of pillow anywhere.   To his surprise, he felt a pinch on his leg and looked down to see that an ugly hand was squeezing his leg. His leg! How dare anyone, who ever he may be, to touch the leg of a Took? Just as he was about to give this un-cushioned orc a piece of his mind, Pippin was unceremoniously dropped to the ground.

With a thump, he landed next to Merry in that horrid baby carrier. To be even more shocked, he felt a wetness along his leg. As he turned to look, he saw the orc who had just been carrying him fall to ground just behind him. Quickly, he crawled away so as not to be trampled by mustard-bearing orcs.

Merry, hearing the sounds of eating somewhere to the side of him, decided that now his Most Excellent Brilliant Plan of Escape could be put into place during the distraction.

But, as he had noted before, the Orcs' intelligence, being descended from Elves, was very subtle: i.e., they did not seem to have any at all, but somehow managed to thwart their enemies in cunning ways. Merry found himself hopelessly tangled in the baby carrier where he had been dropped, squirming desperately to free himself.

He tried wiggling to the left...what luck! One of the five holes in the carrier! He dove for it—as much as a hobbit can be said to dive when wrapped in pale blue fabric—only to find that it was an arm hole.

He wiggled to the right...the other arm hole.

He wiggled in a completely different direction, to find both leg holes. At this point, the air was becoming very warm and close, and he was getting nervous. But alas, only up to his ears would fit through the hole! Had the hobbits more mortal looking ears, his freedom would have been nigh. But hobbits had been granted slightly "elvish" ears, a little longer and more pointed, and he could not fit through.

There was only one hole he had not found, and that was at the top, but Merry was beginning to hyperventilate. "Walls...closing...in..." he said in a half-whisper, half-squeal. A thought crossed his mind that fabric could not really be said to have walls, but such thoughts were to be ignored, as they ruined perfectly good drama.

"Must...escape...find...help...find...Pippin." If only Pippin might hear and come to his rescue. Curse the Orcs and their entangling baby carriers!


Crawling away from the mustard-carrying orcs, Pippin tried to find his friend whom he had been separated from in the midst of the wild dash with the mustard. He finally found him a few yards away in the baby carrier, squirming around. As he watched, Pippin tried to understand what his friend was doing.

Doing aerobics? Nope, not breathing deep enough. Digging for something? Wrong again, Merry's head was sticking out where his legs were. How very strange. He had known Merry to do some strange things but nothing like this.

Suddenly, a dim light seemed to grow in the Took's cranium. Perhaps . . . Merry . . . was trying . . . to find an . . . oh what? Then the lightning struck. Trying to find an exit from the baby carrier.
Finally realizing the reason behind Merry's apparent madness, Pippin wiggled his way over to him.

"Here, Merry. Let me help you." As best as he could with tied hands, Pippin reached into the carrier to find Merry's hand. After some initial failures of grabbing Merry's hair, foot, and head, the Took found his companions hand and then proceed to try to pull him out of the carrier.

However, the young hobbit had underestemated the subtle cunning of the orcs. The carrier seemed determined to retain the captive hobbit. Pulling and tugging, pulling and tugging. With sweat streaming down his face, Pippin finally stopped. At the end of his strength, he suddenly had an idea to do as Gandalf did at the doors of Moria. Just say a word.

"Please."

The carrier then deflated and Merry was able to crawl out into the coolness of the evening.

---

Finally, Eothain was deadly sick of the song - they had sung it 100 times and then started on the '100 flagons of ale on the rafters' one. He thought he would go mad.

"Look!" he shouted. "Orcs!" He really hadn't seen any, but it quickly shut the mouths of the Riders.

"Where? Where?" Eomer shouted, looking all about. He had the look of a rabbit, a furry bunny rabbit with a carrot in his mouth. "Which way did they go? Which way did they go?" He repeated over and over.

Eothain shook his head to rid himself of the vision - but when he opened his eyes again, there Eomer sat horsed with a carrot in his mouth. The long horsehair tale on his helmet had been parted by the wind into two separate flowing pieces that were held high in the air by the wind. 'That's why he looks like a wabbit, er rabbit!' Eothain thought.

"Sh!" Eomer whispered with his finger held up to his lips. "Be vary vary quiet. I'm hunting Orcs."

---

Festooned with squirts of mustard and gobbets of...er, other things.... the orcs ate themselves into quasi-somnolence with the addition from their packs of plenty of dijon, saurkraut and pfeffernuesse that had only been awaiting the proper celebratory moment to be brought forth. The ground was littered with empty cans of Maggoty Bread which had benefited greatly by being used as a garnish.

Ugluk belched loudly from both ends, as orcs are sometimes wont to do, and stood up to take a look around. They were on a sort of knoll near some kind of dark foresty looking thing. All seemed well except for the whippy grass everywhere that reminded him they were still on enemy territory. He snorted the wind looking for the scent of horses but only smelled the rest of the orcs who were 'belching' too.

Grishnakh stuffed an ear in his mouth to chew on and sat down on a soft spot on the ground. It squeaked in protest, making him realize he'd nearly squished the forgotten cufflinks. Ah yes....

He spat out an earlobe and leaned over to sniff them. They'd make a nice dessert... all for himself....

---

He had finally smelt them, heard their raucous calls, SAW their feeding frenzy and his mind, already slightly unhinged by the merciless apple attack, broke!

"Kill the Orcs!" he screamed and urged his horse forward. The poor beast just sat there shaking its head.

Eomer jumped off and pulled the horse's face close to his. "Come on," he whined. "Don't do this to me now!"

He tried pulling the horse by it's reins, but the beast only dug its hooves further into the earth.

Eothain rode up. "What's the problem now?"

"He's upset cause I ate his carrot!"

"I have another," the Rohir said exasperatedly. "Here!" and he handed the carrot to Eomer who promptly offered it to his horse.

Greedily, before the Orcs ahead could smell it, the horse gulped it down.

Eomer cheered, the men cheered, the gophers cheered, the birds in the air... oh, you get the idea.

Eomer jumped upon his steed, held his spear up high, and once again screamed, "Kill the Orcs!"

"Whiteskins!" hollered Ugluk in warning, pointing to little dots on the disgustedly grassy horizon that were rapidly beginning to be slightly horse-shaped. The orc-band, mistaking this for a declaration that some kind of dessert was on its way at first responded by eating three more of their kind as celebratory hors-deouvres, tossing bits in the wind like confetti.

"Whiteskins, you blithering idiots!" Ugluk tried again as Oobleck pranced past him with a party-squeaker in his mouth and an improvised lampshade on his head.

Grishnakh was unfortunately one of the brighter ones, at least bright enough to realize what was coming their way was more likely to create orc shish-ka-bobs than appetizers. And if that happened, he would probably not get dessert!

Grunting, he gathered up a squeaking hobbit under each armpit and slipped through the festoons of...er, festoony orc-stuff and 'confetti' towards the concealment of the forest.