The Lord of the... whatever, Book IV, Chapter 6:

The West Under The Window

     It seemed to Frodo that he had slept while long years
were measured by the wheeling stars above them - but in truth
only a few hours passed before Dr. Faramir came back.
In record time he had gathered many men who had come with
him; indeed the entire scientific establishment -- scientists,
professors and student body -- of all the universities in
Eastern Gondor™ had seemed to gather for the occasion.
They sat on the hill and grasses, in a huge amphitheatre
while Dr. Faramir was pointing with a ruler at the standing
figures of Sam and Spiegel. It looked strangely like a
classroom's show-and-tell: and Frodo wondered why he was
let aside.
     It soon became obvious that the students were not
satisfied with Dr. Faramir's account of the hobbits at
several points: their migratory patterns, their reproductive
rituals - not to mention their feeding habits and height
     "But it was at the waking of Isildur's shame that the
midgets would be standing low!" a fellow Professor, Dr
Imrahil, insisted. "If these are the so-called midgets
known as les Américains, then they must be able to
adjust their height, or at least do so since the household
of the round one. Do you deny it?"
     "The Bourgeoisie indeed has a knack for greatly expanding
their width at the workers' expense, and that's a fact. But
not their height," spoke up Sam. We'll have to adjust it
for them, he thought. He had a vision of heads, many heads
rolling, and then all the clouds parted and at his command
the whole of the Shire became a garden of cut-off heads. He
only had to pick up a handy axe...
     But Dr. Imrahil interrupted his daydreaming. "There are
other things I'd like to learn from you, for all that
concern Isildur concern me closely and yet the matter of
Isildur's Shame still remains unresolved. Embarrasing
things Isildur did a-plenty, and knowledge of any one of
them would not be a sign of doom. Whatever was that thing
you brought it before the council and there it was seen
and Isildur's shame proven - is that no so? It is hidden
you say, but is that not a feeble attempt at blackmail?"
     "Well, now that you mention it..." answered Sam, but at
Dr. Faramir's look he quickly changed his answer: "Nay,
it is not ours to reveal. The Shame does not belong to
any mortal, and certainly not me or you; therefore you
have nothing to fear. If it can be claimed by anyone it
is by Aragon, son of Arathon, son of Aradud, son of
Arabarf leader of our Fellowship from Moira onwards.
Your complaints to him."
     "Why him, and not Dr. Faramir, head of the University of
Gondor™ which Isildur's sons founded?"
     "Because Aragon had a Veriseal-approved document -- oh,
you mean the Shame. Because he claims to be descendant
of Elendil, Isildur's son. And he has even had the sword
of Elendil reforged and improved."
     A murmur of scientific dismay ran through all the student
body. "The sword of Elendil reforged and improved! Horror
of horrors! What will comes next? Should we install drainpipes
in the Great Pyramid of Pelargir? Improve the frown of the
Minnie Pizza? What a grievous loss to archaeology."
     But Dr. Faramir interrupted now, and he seemed unmoved.
"Maybe. But the 'reforging' of such a sword could easily
be used as an excuse to remove all evidence of its
authenticity. I suspect a case of fraud -- clear proof
shall be required of this sword's origin should this
Aragon come to Minas Tirith™. We'll have to carbon-date
it before we decide whether we'll hang him for desecration
of one of our nation's artifacts -- or give him the chair
for heir-to-the-throne impersonation. Class dismissed!"
     The students dispersed, and so did all the professors other
than Dr. Faramir who seemed thoughtful. Frodo approached the
group, and Sam stared defiantly at the man. "Well, are you
satisfied, Faramir? I did the best I could." he said in a
hushed voice.
     "Of course you did!" Dr. Faramir said and smiled. "You
are great at deception - of all sorts." He went on with a
sideways glance at Frodo which made Sam very uncomfortable.
"But you could not hide from them the fact that you three
bear a burden other than Frodo's foot-fungus. The misdirection
was necessary, I fear - and the revelation of the Sword will
help cloak your other secrets.
     "But there are other matters I want to learn from you now -
which makes me happy that you have finally woken up, Frodo.
You spoke of Boromir™ a little while ago. Were you a friend
of his?"
     Vividly before Frodo's mind the memory of Boromir™
(handsome rugged looks and all) bending over him with his vile
attentions - or stabbing him with his mighty sword: and for a
moment he hesitated. Dr Faramir's looks hardened. "No," Frodo
sighed, "and more's the pity."
     "Then you wouldn't care at all if you learned that he was
     "Indeed I would no--" Frodo said and then his startled
mind caught up with his (somewhat pointy) ears. "Gay?" he said.
"Do you mean that he is gay, and that he never cared to tell
me? How do you know? Did I lose all chance to a potential
relationship? Or are you now trying to trap me with a
     "I would not snare even an orc-- oh, what the hell, of
course I would, and my colleagues and students also, if it was
for a good cause. But I'm not lying now."
     "But he never mentioned this to me. Why did he not offer
himself to me, not even when I was using my charms all over
Rivendell? Surely there must be a reason?"
     "Or indeed many." said Dr. Faramir, "and ugliness not the
most important."
     Sam had been getting more and more impatient and angry at
this conversation. "Begging your pardon," he said, "but this has
gone on long enough! See here, Doctor! What are you driving
at? Has the Magic Kingdom™ of Gondor™ fallen so low
that it need repeat the same joke over and over again? Noone
cares about their sexual preferences, and that's a fact."
     "Patience!" said Dr. Faramir. "Your wit may be a greater
than that of your master, but you don't need to teach me about
our peril: the death-blow of the lame joke. Were I as hasty as
you I'd have killed you all long ago - and then proceeded to
torch down Minas Mickey and pretty much all the rest of the
Magic Kingdom of Gondor™ as well."
     Sam sat down heavily, and Dr. Faramir turned to Frodo again.
"You asked how I know these things. We kept little hidden from
one another. Similarity in names means kinship 'tis said. And
we two had four letters in common: He was my brother."
     A shadow of sorrow passed over his face and Sam and Spiegel
exchanged looks (though Frodo remained oblivious as ever). "We
observe, Doctor," Sam said, "that with great care you say was
and kept. What about the present tense? Do you think him
     "Well, it certainly wasn't a mistake in grammar!" Dr.
Faramir snapped at them, then he turned towards Frodo again. "Do
you remember anything of special mark that Boromir™ carried with
     Frodo stuttered for a while, wondering how this interrogation
would turn. How he would fare among so many men, (oh my, how many
men!) warlike and strong, he did not know, and it filled him both
with hope and fears of inadequacy. Yet he felt in his heart that
Dr. Faramir at least was a man both less interested in sex and
     "Boromir™ used to have a horn."
     "Oh, that - yes, he used to drink from it, and its sound was
his weapon of choice. I meant something else."
     "A sword that he filed on rocks? A red shirt with big black
concentric circles and an 'aim here' sign? Hair that turned
from black to blonde depending on the medium?"
     "Yes, yes and yes." said Dr. Faramir, now becoming impatient.
"But, something else..."
     Frodo thought deeper - and suddenly it came to him: the one
thing that was the symbol of the whole of Gondor™; the one
thing which was both sewn into their flags and carved in their
     "I remember that Boromir™ had a trademark sign."
     "You remember well, and as one who has in truth seen him,"
said Faramir. "Maybe you can see it in your mind. A capital T
followed by a capital M, either elevated in superscript or bound
in parentheses. That trademark does the ruler and heir of the
realm hold for many generations now -- and it said that there's
no fan or satirist which will not quail at its use."
     "But even the mightiest corporation may succumb to an
amateur humorist," said Sam. "and I fear that Boromir™ was
struck down by many. Yet this does not explain how you know of
his death."
     "I sat at night by the solemn waters of Anduin in the grey
dark under the young pale moon, evermoving stream, near the
rustling sad reeds; watching the anthroporphisms in the narrative.
But my mask may have been flawed or the fumes thicker than usual -
for I had a vision: I saw, or it seemed that I saw, a raft
floating on the water.
     "An awe fell on me, for the raft seemed to defy all physical
law in that it should sink like a stone to the bottom of the
river - and yet not only didn't it do that, but there was a man
tied upon it. And then the raft turned towards me, and started to
fall apart within my reach and yet I dared not touch it, lest
my hands contaminate the sample."
     "The man was Boromir™, my brother, and as cranky as a newly
awakened Balrog which hasn't yet drank its morning coffee. I
knew his face, his voice, his stench. One thing only was changed -
for his warhorn was different and all in golden. Boromir! I
cried for we never used trademarks in familiar speech. Why is
thy bronze horn golden? Hast thou discovered the secrets of
alchemy? O Boromir! But he only yelled Untie me, you daydreaming
fool of a brother! and he was gone... The raft moved downwards
the stream and Boromir™ cried Oh, no, not another waterfall
and tumbled into the turbulent waters. And I do not doubt
that if he's still alive, then he'll have to find out a pretty
far-fetched way to explain it."
     "Alas!" lied Frodo, yet his smirk could not be hidden. "That was
indeed Boromir™, as I knew him. Not biblically, mind you. The Golden
Warhorn of Summoning was given to him in Lothlorien by the Lady
     "So then you passed through the Land of Lorien! Long it has lain
beyond the knowledge of all except the most experienced golf-players -
and yet I suspect it plays a role in the drug operations of the Voice,
or the 'Master' as he desires us to call him. Much that was strange
about him I've slowly began to understand. That guy is NOT an
incarnation of Eru!" he said, yet they perceived not his meaning.
He fell silent for a long while.
     "But the tale is such," Dr. Faramir said again in the end, speaking
again softly. "that it will undoubtedly fill you with grief and fear.
Almost it makes me want to let you go, out of sympathy for your loss.
For unless all in your party were slain or captured, how would Orcs
or servant of the Nameless find the time to tie Boromir™ down for
such torment? I fear that none in your company still live.
     "But even though I don't yet know for sure what happened on the
North Marsh, you, Frodo, I'm certain about. I've not earned a degree
in criminal psychology for nothing! There is something about you,
Frodo, a fairy air, perhaps, not that there's anything wrong about
that. Yet more lies hidden (and you hide more lies) in your words
and in your possessions than I had first thought. I should inject
you with truth serum and have you strip-searched.
     "But we don't have time for that here. We must move hence
without more delay." He sprang to his feet and called for Ramrod
and Blacklung. "We'll be going to a secret place that we have. It's
a beautiful place and well worthy of a visit - even though it has
failed as a commercial venture. In the morning I will decide what
is to be done about you."

     They set out at once: Ramrod and Blacklung ahead, with Frodo,
Sam and Spiegel behind. While they walked, Dr. Faramir talked to them
with an even more hushed voice than earlier.
     "Earlier on I was careless and repeated what in his folly Frodo
revealed - in front of my soldiers to boot! That is the reason I
had you, Sam, turn to the matter of Aragon and Isildur's Sword -
which my soldiers were also bound to have noticed more. Frodo
is way too frank for such a job. Or stupid."
     "Would it help if I say it was all a bunch of lies?" said
     "Hah! I do not blame you for trying to cover up for your
lack of skill and wisdom in a hard matter. Yet few would instantly
recognize the thing that you spoke of - we of the house of
the Stewards (Steuards that was once in the ancient tongue)
have much knowledge and preserve much ancient lore that even in
academic circles it isn't found. For we reckon our line to
Mardil™ the good Steuard who built our first university
once he found the opportunity to send King Eisner away to China.
And he was the last King and had no legitimate child. An
alliance between the universities and the entertainment
industry has governed the city since that day.
     "And this I remember from Boromir™ as a boy when we were
first taught the laws of science and of commerce -- that it always
displeased him that the heads and heirs of the noble houses ought
now to have either a trademark or a Ph.D. 'How many years need
pass for a copyright to expire?' he asked. 'Seventy years after
the author's death or a hundred after publication, for other
places of more reasonable laws. But for the Magic Kingdom™
not even a billion trillion years would suffice.' Does that not
tell you anything?"
     Frodo thought. "About Gondor™'s practices? Yes, indeed. But
Boromir™ accepted Aragon's Veriseal contract."
     "I don't doubt it. He obeyed the laws even when they
displeased him. But the pinch had not yet come: Aragon had not
tried to trademark yet his name or create his own copyright laws.
     "But once again I stray: We in the house of Denethor™ know
much in both scientific and financial matters. Books and tablets,
battery-powered lanterns and swords guaranteed to break immortal
wills, microscopes and nuclear generators. Few understand these
things nowadays - alas for the lowered standards in public education.
It was these things that brought the Dirty Pilgrim to us - and yet
he spoke to us about other lands in the North, so far more advanced
than ours that they even have umbrellas."
     Dr. Faramir sighed and his eyes took a far-away look. "What a
wonder these lands must be! All things must be great there, and
scientists held to a great respect!"
     Sam coughed nervously. "The Dirty Pilgrim?" asked Frodo. "Did he
have a name?"
     "Masterly Wonderful One he wanted us to call him, " said
Dr. Faramir, "or he wouldn't be content. But many are the names
that I have been given, and even more the epithets, he said.
Mesprendeur among the elves, and Wandy-elf in the Eddas; Olorin
in the West in my youth best left forgotten, Mayanus in the South
(which becomes Mayonnaise in the Gnomish dialect), Gandalf in the
North, 'That Crazy Pyromaniac' in the forests--"
     "I think we get the picture." said Frodo.
     "-- 'Your Finger, You Fool' in the lost kingdom of Australia,
and Gandolf as the rustics name me, or 'Panoramix' in the noble
tongue or Olrrn?whthfckdsthtIstrthn^kheis?! to those who can
pronounce somewhat the Valinorean..."
     "Olrn -what?!?"
     "--thfckdsthtIstrth^nkheis?! yes. It's in the Zarfian dialect.
But my real name is constantly growing, for I've lived a very long
time, and my name is a story that would tell you all the things I've
done or are planning to do and that would really inconvenience me."
     "No doubt I could add to that list." growled Frodo. "Lathspell I
name him, Swindler-and-Crook. But he'll get no chance to hear it.
He was lost in Moira."
     "No! Fathe--uh--teacher!"
     Sam and Spiegel once again exchanged looks. "'Father'?"
     "No!! I never said 'father' and you can't prove I did.
Fatheuhteacher means, umm... Obnoxious one in the forgotten
tongue of the Etruscans. Anyway, are you sure he was so thoroughly
lost that he couldn't find his way back? Perhaps a search party..."
     Frodo chuckled. "Thank Eru, yes. A magic-wielding character who
falls into an abyss in an ambiguous death-scene and no recovered body?
Nope, we are never seeing him again."
     "I see that it's a blessing that he wasn't cut in two," said
Faramir, now in greater control of himself. "This Mesprendeur was, I
now guess, more than a meddler and cow-tipper extra-ordinaire, he was
a loremaster and scientist - and you can hardly get much more of a
praise than that. Had he been among us to consult concerning the
hard words of our dream, he ... well, come to think of it, he would
have probably interpreted it as a nonsensical Freudian delusion
filled with phallic symbolism. Or we'd have quarelled about whether
it's the midget or the standing that's supposed to be low. Aye - it
seems that the journey of Boromir™ was doomed. Mesprendeur knew
hardly anything about Isildur or the events surrounding him: Genetics
was his expertise."
     Now Dr. Faramir's voice sank to a whisper. "But this conclusion I've
reached, or leaped to, or somersaulted to,  and I have postponed it
for an upcoming publication: That there's physical evidence for the
Isildur-Miniwethil-Sauron triangle which so far has only been rumored.
But I had not before thought that Isildur's Shame was that same thing.
For none of the histories - nay, not even the parodies - ever made
that connection. Not even in Dr. Imrahil's blockbusting trilogy Was
Isildur gay?, Was Isildur a transvestite? and Who's this Isildur
person anyway? was that ever implied.
     "What was that Thing I can't yet be certain. Was it an engagement
present from one to the other: a piece of jewelry perhaps?" - he
added with a wry smile at the hobbits. "But other reports speak
of the stain of Doom that this Thing held - the stain which could not
be unmade or washed clean, save only in the Nurnenshire lake, near
the place where it was wrought. And this implies that it was
a piece of clothing. Either way, I can believe that Boromir™
would try to steal such a thing; he was a bit into crossdressing,
be it rings, dresses or horned helmets.
     "But fear no more! I am not such a man - and my dressing habits
are normal. No, no, I'd refuse to wear such thing, even for the sake
of scientific experimentation."
     But for the sake of the Revolution, thought Sam, how many
worse things I've been willing to do. Oh, Revolutionary Rosie, forgive
     "For myself," said Faramir, "I would see the White Weed smoking
again all over the courts of the kings, and the Mousy Ears return,
and Minas Tirith™ a leader in scientific achievement and
entertainment: Minas Mickey again as of old, full of vision and
creativity; beautiful and expensive like a once-in-your-lifetime
experience with wit and real humour - not a jester-for-hire with a
pun or fart joke, nay not even a well-intentioned clown with baggy
trousers and a ready pie to throw."
     Frodo made no answer. Almost he had wielded to a lusty desire
for this man of taste and scientific achievement - but something had
held him back. He was now in a deep mistrust about the Stone of
Galadriel (or was it the Ring - a 'thing of Power' Maglor
said) which might create in him these feelings. It didn't help
that right now he felt himself getting turned on by visions of
clowns throwing custard pies at him.

     So they passed on, until the graphic surroundings grew fewer
and fewer. Then they turned aside again to the right, and came
quickly to an open field, west of a white house with a boarded
front door and a small mailbox in front of it.
     "Here, as was agreed, I shall blindfold the eyes of Frodo.
The others may still walk free."
     This was not to the liking of Frodo. "The agreement was made
without my consent," he said. "I will not walk blindfolded, like a
peasant or a servant. I am not a spy, and if I will not go forward
free then I will go back and sue you all when I come into my
inheritance as Lord of the Nurnenshire estates."
     "Now that you have so far, you can't go back to where you used
to be. You are in a whole new world." said Dr. Faramir sternly.
"And I am either speaking metaphorically or quoting a song.
Possibly both. Anyway, you will NOT come into your inheritance,
not unless you claim it within ten years' time. We could keep you
for longer than that."
     Frodo sprang up (a rather meaningless gesture, since he was
already standing) and tried to set himself side by side with Sam,
something which would have caused more impressive results if Sam
was willing to comply or if there had been a nearby wall to place
his back against. He fumbled for Sting.
     "A plague on males and their pissing contests! We don't care
whose sword is the biggest!" cried out Spiegel.
     "Come!" said Sam. "It is unfair for my poor, poor Master to be
thus singled out. Blindfold us all, and me first. That will be best,
even though surroundings will have to be described verbally," he
said but he winked at Dr. Faramir as he was saying it.
     "So let it be done." answered Dr. Faramir, smiling. "Will you
consent to this, Frodo? Why, I will blindfold even myself and my
soldiers before leading you onwards."
     Frodo reluctantly agreed, and forcing himself not to laugh
Dr. Faramir had Blacklung blindfold Sam, Spiegel, Faramir himself
and then Frodo. Needless to say when that last blindfold was placed,
all the other ones were removed.
     So it was that Frodo knew nothing of that last mile of the road.
They descended through caves, and a maze of twisty little passages,
all alike. Now and again they'd have to backtrack their steps or
even drop objects so as to have reference points in their efforts
not to get lost. In places the passages seemed to have a weird logic
of their own, so that reversing your direction wasn't certain to
return you to your point of origin. It all looked very tedious and
tiring to Sam, even though it filled him with a strange sense of
     "Let Frodo... uh, I mean us see!" Dr. Faramir said in the
end. Frodo's scarf was removed and he stared around him. They were
standing on a wet floor of polished stone, on which a window was
set, open, one pane laid back.
     "This is the Henneth Annun, the West Under the Window,",
explained Faramir. "One of the most experimental of our places.
Few strangers even know about it. Don't mind the name. It's
     They climbed down and at once the found themselves in a room
with a table set for two (two hundred that is), lit by candlelight.
"Well, here is our refuge," said Dr. Faramir. "Not a typical place,
but here at least you may pass the night. Only two reactions there are
ever concerning it: One either loves or hates it. And understanding
is not required for either."

     Dr Faramir bid them rest, then he went about among the men,
questioning each as they came in. Some were coming back from
their SATs, but others had been sent to record the fauna in the lands
bordering with Mordor.
     "Well, Anblorb, did you have a chance to study the specimen you
were seeking in its native environment? Before dissecting it, that
     "Well, no, Doc," said the young man. "It didn't seem of the orcus
genus at least. But I did see something rather strange. It was
getting dark, so perhaps it was nothing other than a grue or a
     Sam pricked up his ears at this.
     "Yet if it was a grue, it was also horned. It stood man-high and
seemed to walk as if it knew our secret ways. Perhaps under the
shadow of the Unnamed Travesty some of the Norsemen of Holywood
are wandering in our newsgroup. They have horned helmets there,
'tis said."
     "Perhaps," said Dr. Faramir, hesitating briefly. "That could be a
omen of both ill and good. An influx of newbies can be a good thing,
but not everyone would welcome it. What did you do?"
     "I followed standard procedure," said Anblorb, beaming. "Shot
it dead. It screamed and then fell into the waters and flowed away."
Sam gasped then, and Dr. Faramir gave him a swift glance - but Sam
said nothing. He struggled with himself. "Boromir™ may not be all
right," he thought, "and then again he may be. I have a feeling
that he may still have a part to play before all this is over. Dr.
Faramir did tell me that Boromir™'s Gnomish name was 'McCloud'
after all."

     After supper (and before they ate they had all stood silently
for a moment in respect for the One Who Was, and the One Who Is,
and the One Who Will One Day Perhaps Be) Dr. Faramir asked them
many questions about their journey. Much he dwelt on the subject
of Tom Bombadildo, but eventually he returned to the place of
Boromir™ in the fellowship and the role he'd played in with
the Reeps in the wild, with the bureaucracy of Charadhras, in
the mines of Moira.
     "It must have irked Boromir™ to flee from such an obvious
place of both entertainment and commercial profit."
     "He was the last to go," said Frodo, "but the room had become
filled with enflamed posts. If it hadn't been for that, I do not
doubt that both Aragon and Lego-lass would have remained there
debating the subject."
     "Maybe it would have been better if he had perished there,
rather than meet the torment that awaited him in the hands of orcs."
     "Maybe! Which reminds me, how about those Nicks?" said Frodo,
trying to quickly change the subject. "Umm, because the sports of Minas
Tirith™ interest me a lot, that is."
     "How about them? Interest for sports is waning in Minas Tirith™.
The sword of Elendil, if it returns indeed, may briefly rekindle it
perhaps, if its bearer has not only inherited the blade, but also
the will to fight for his life against the lions and tigers of the
arena we'll put him in.
     "Boredom was ever present in the realms that the Atlanteans
founded. Kings used to sat lazily in front of non-existent and
uninvented television sets, or considered a game of scrabble more
interesting than the process of reproduction. And the birth-rates
were declining.
     "But the stewards were wiser and much more liberal in their
beginning. Liberal because they recruited the breeding-stock of the
sturdy folk of the havens, and invited the sexy peoples of the North
over, which being white were considered almost human, unlike the men
of warmer climates. (And thence does Dr. Imrahil derive his
ancestry - the teen pregnancy of an elven exchange-student.)
     "So it came to pass in the days of Cirion™, the Twelfth
Steuard (and my father is the 1075th - don't ask, there were some
periods of very abrupt changes in management) that the Rohirrim men
came over and wooed our womenfolk, while the Rohirrim women tried to
rape our men. And these all became our brothers and sisters-in-law,
and have ever proved true to us, aiding us at need with sexual advice
and better cuisine.
     "And even the most bigoted among us loved them, for their women
were fair and their men were fair, and their speech was likewise
fair, and a great number of the children born to our women were
fair in the following years. And the bigoted among us had no
problem with that.
     "For in such a way did Gondor™ like to divide the human species,
forcing everyone to register as one of nine different 'races' based on
the hue of the skin, with the whitest us on the top. Feh!" Dr. Faramir
spat on the ground. "Scientifically absurd!" he said, and then suddenly
sighed and was quiet.

     Sam was suddenly willing to take whatever information he had
offered to share with them at face value. He had noted that Dr. Faramir
seemed egalitarian-minded, and this had earned his respect and quieted
his suspicion even more than their mutual dislike of Frodo had. He spoke
up. "You haven't told us much yet about the Ring, Doctor."
     "Sam!" cried Frodo aghast. He had fallen asleep yet again, and he
only woke up for these last few words. All three turned towards
him, surprised.
     "What?" he asked. "He knows about the ring. You told him yesterday,
     Frodo looked embarrased. "Umm... I had forgotten, actually. Sorry."
     Spiegel rolled her eyes. "Save us! There again you go! You'd forget
your own head if it wasn't screwed on, as my grandma used to say.
O dear, oh dear!"
     Dr. Faramir smiled at Spiegel and then turned back to Sam. "Indeed
not, Master Samwise. I thought to leave it for the next cha-- that is,
for later. And I'd like to know what other people told you about
it. Lady Galadriel, for example! Wise she must be, and perilously
     Sam shrugged. "Well...I don't know anything about perilous.
She may be her own evil twin sister, but she probably makes her
partners use a condom."

     They spoke for a little while more and then they finally stood up
to go to sleep. "I'll have thinking to do," said Dr. Faramir. "Papers
to grade, and my instruments to set up for tomorrow. Go now to rest,
therefore, but first tell me if you wish where you are planning
to go and what do do you want?" A shadow seemed to pass over
him as he spoke those last few words, but it may have just been
a trick of the candlelight's flickering.
     Spiegel's eyes glowed eerily and for a moment her hair stood
on edge. "You want to know what I want? You want to know the truth?
I want my people to reclaim their rightful place in Middle-Earth.
I want everything to be as they used to be!" she growled, then
she suddenly stood straight and passed her hand over her eyes.
"Oops. Sorry. It seems I was channelling for a moment there. I
don't even know where that stuff came from."
     Sam wanted many things, several of which had to do with the
blissful swing of an axe, but he refrained to speak of this before
so many witnesses.
     And as for Frodo, he suddenly burst into tears. "I just want to
get my estates and title!" he whined in a weak voice. "But that blasted
El Rond forced me to first find Mount Viagra and throw the Ring
into the gulf of Freud. They all said so. Why does no one care to
help me?"
     Dr. Faramir stared at him in grave astonishment, then as Frodo
swayed, he stepped back and let Frodo fall into the muddy floor.
"Throw the ring into Mount Viagra? What an amazingly stupid thing to
do," he thought, and directed servants to pick up Frodo and throw him
into a spare dungeon.
     For Sam and Spiegel better accomodations would be found. "Good
night, Doctor. You are enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, indicating
the unconscious Frodo being carried away.
     "Am I?"
     "Yes, sir, and I don't blame you."
     Faramir smiled. "Perhaps. Your begin to see with eyes keener than
those of many who would deem themselves wise. My ethics can indeed
get a bit weaker when dealing with the foolish. The desire to do as I
did was overpowering."
     "Ah, well." said Sam. "As I said, I don't blame you. But
something else..." he added and his mouth turned into a strange smile.
"You said my master has a fairy air and that was true even if sounding
vaguely homophobic. But I can say this: You have an air (and a nose,
and eyes actually), that reminds of, of - well, a wizard. Of
     "No, you are mistaken, it's a trick of a light, it is!" cried
out Faramir. "Have I not earnestly studied the matter? Wizards can't
reproduce. And there's no evidence that Gandalf learned ways to
experiment with genetics in Dol Guldur, none whatsover, none I tell
you! Evil cannot create! Not that Gandalf was evil! Goodnight!"
     He ran away in an uncharacteristic near-panic and Sam was left
with his thoughts. "Well, Doctor seems a decent equal-minded sort and
Gandalf is dead, but there's nothing wrong with gathering a little dirt
on people... Just in case. Perhaps I can from afar discern the
opportunity for blackmail." he mused, pleased with himself.
     The window shattered.

Book IV, Chapter Five / Table of Contents / Book IV, Chapter Seven
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This chapter of this epic work is presented through the courtesy of Aris Katsaris <katsaris-aaaaaaat-otenet-dawt-gr>. Copyright © 2001 by the author. All rights reserved. Some variance between this e-text and the original printed material by Professor Tolkien is inevitable. Using this as an electronic resource for scholarly or research purposes may lead to a certain degree of academic embarassment. All agree that the printed version of the text, available from respectable publishers such as Houghton Mifflin and Ballantine Books, is to be preferred. Boromir™, Denethor™, Minas Tirith™ and Gondor™ are trademarks of Saul Zaentz and Tolkien Enterprises, who hold all merchandising rights to Gondor™ and its subsidiaries. In today's installment Frodo was played by Elsie the Cow.