The Dangers of Procrastination

In a severe goth-meets-steam-punk chamber in Barad-dûr, Khamûl rose from his seat at the conference table, adjusted his robe and began:

“The prisoner was subjected to enhanced interrogation this morning. I think you will find my report most interesting, my lord. It would appear that around five hundred years ago, the prisoner found – and subsequently lost about seventy-seven years ago – a magic ring in the vicinity of the Gladden Fields.”

Sauron, who had up to this point absentmindedly inspected a cob web hanging from the black Artex ceiling, exclaimed, “Ah, news of my ring at last! And at a most convenient time as well.”

“How can you be sure it is your ring, my lord?” asked the Witch King.

“Easy as pie. If the prisoner has survived for centuries, it must be a Great Ring. The Three, the Seven and the Nine are all accounted for, ergo it must be the One. QED.”  Sauron leaned back smugly.

“Impressive reasoning, my lord,” said the nazgûl, and, “Neatly deducted, sir,” and, “QED, what does that mean?”

“Well, gentlemen, I think we ought to see to it that it returns into the right hands, don’t you think?”

Approving mumbles spread around the table.

“Did the prisoner give any indication as to where he lost the ring, Khamûl?

“Better, my lord,” replied Khamûl with an air of satisfaction. “He told us who has it now. Someone by the name of Baggins in a place in Eriador called the Shire. Apparently – I consulted the library at lunchtime – it is a leaderless community of ignorant, fat little peasants. We shouldn’t meet with any resistance there.”

“Hm.” Sauron frowned. If Khamûl had hoped to receive praise for his lunchtime diligence, he was disappointed. “Didn’t you say this was seventy-seven years ago, though? A lot might happen in such a time span. I mean, look at me: I got this whole place redecorated.” He glanced with pride at the black and purple latex wall hangings. “So before we make any concrete plans, we need more information. Question the prisoner again tomorrow, Khamûl.”

“Um, that won’t be possible,” said the Mouth of Sauron in quivering tones.

“Why not?”

“Because I was notified just before this meeting that the prisoner has escaped.”

Sauron slowly counted to ten. Then he screamed, “Why, oh why do I have to work with such complete and utter incompetents?”

Nobody replied.

oOoOoOo

A little while later, in the Shire

“So when did you first suspect that this was the One Ring?” asked Frodo.

Gandalf sent a smoke ring floating round the chandelier. “Hm, that would have been the year we drove the Necromancer out of Mirkwood. The year of the Battle of Five Armies.”

“What?” squeaked Frodo. “But that was seventy-seven years ago! That was when Bilbo first found then ring! You suspected it then? Why haven’t you done anything about it in all this time?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” said Gandalf, embarrassed. “At first I put it off because we had just finished a whopping adventure and I needed a bit of a holiday, and then I had tonsillitis, and then it was Figwit’s Silver Wedding party, and then it kind of went out of my head. Besides,” he added hastily as he nodded the rising wrath in Frodo’s face,” I couldn’t really be sure it was the One Ring.”

“Why not? You told me not five minutes ago that all the others were accounted for. Anyone with half a brain could have worked it out.”

Gandalf squirmed. “Well, you know, we’d discussed it at the White Council and we’d agreed that we needn’t worry, because the One Ring had fallen into the Great River.”

“It fell into the river and so your White Council decided the problem was solved.” Frodo turned his head aside and rolled his eyes. “You wizard types are wise indeed!”

“No need to be so sarcastic,” said Gandalf. “Look, I’m sorry, I should have dealt with it earlier, but I let it slip. So, okay, I did nothing about it for years and years, decades you might even say, and now the Enemy has found out all about it and is after you. Mea culpa, but it’s no use crying over spilled milk. The important thing is that you lose no time now and leave the Shire at once.  I think you should go immediately. September 22^nd, your and Bilbo’s birthday, that’s a good time to leave.”

“It’s April now,” said Frodo. “Why should I wait five months? I think I should leave tonight!”

“If you leave now, there will be much talk about it after you’re gone and it will draw attention. But if you make lengthy preparations and tell everybody that you will be leaving, that will quell any talk.”

“Oh, really? I am not convinced that I want to take advice from somebody who took seventy-seven years to work out that –”

“I think you need to talk less and listen more, Frodo Baggins!” boomed Gandalf. “You are just a little hobbit and I am the mighty Gandalf. Now do as I tell you!”

oOoOoOo

A little while later at Sarn Ford

Gandalf filled his pipe for the third time and then took a deep puff. “So I want every available Ranger to patrol the borders of the Shire 24/7, do you hear? The Enemy must not find Frodo!”

“There are about forty, maybe forty-five of us who could be set on this duty. The borders of the Shire are something like five hundred miles long. It would be better use of our resources if we gathered those forty to set a watch on Frodo’s house, or even better, escort him on his way. We could be in Rivendell before the end of the month.”

“No! What if the servants of the Enemy attack you on the way?”

“They would have less of a chance against all forty of us together,” Strider pointed out. “And if we leave within the next couple of days, we could get away long before they reach Eriador.”

Gandalf shook his head and continued to smoke hectically.

“There is yet time. Frodo needs to make his preparations and I want to visit Saruman first. He usually has some nice little garden parties around this time. My heart tells me that we should go with my plan.”

“What exactly is your plan, Gandalf? And what do you want me to do?”

“You should just hang around in the vicinity of Bree and if Frodo happens to come that way, you can escort him from there.”

“And what if the servants of the Enemy attack us on the way?”

“You always have to nit-pick, don’t you?”

oOoOoOo

A little while later in Barad-dûr

Sauron welcomed the Nine as they returned from their latest scouting expedition.

“No news, my lord, I am sorry to say,” said the Witch King.” And I’m afraid our travels are no longer secret. The hippie wizard has seen us and no doubt will go blabbing to all his pals.”

“Never mind, that doesn’t matter anymore. Gentlemen, we have thrilling news. Saruman palantired me this afternoon.  He says the old busybody Gandalf came to him all flustered and wittering about the One Ring. It looks like Gandalf-dear has done our work for us and found out for certain that the Baggins brat has it. Saruman has detained Gandalf in Orthanc, and the two idiots can keep each other distracted there. Oh, and Saruman also palantired me a map of the Shire, which may come in handy.”

“Shall we leave for the Shire tomorrow at dawn then, my lord?” asked Khamûl, angling as usual for his boss’s approval.

“There’s no rush. The transport infrastructure in Middle-earth is so appalling these days that wherever the Baggins brat decides to go, it’ll take him ages to get there. That is, if he goes anywhere at all. We have no reason to believe that he knows we’re after him.”

“But won’t Gandalf suspect it and warn him? He might be able to send some kind of message from his prison in Orthanc.”

Sauron raised an eyebrow. “What do you think? It took Gandalf seventy-seven years to work out what I realised in seconds. And even if Gandalf manages to get a message out, the privatisation of the postal services means that it would take months to reach the Baggins brat. No, no, we can take our time.”

“Are you sure, my lord? Wouldn’t it be better if –”

“Yes, yes, Khamûl, I’m sure. There’s no need to leave before the end of next week. I have a golf weekend planned. The Sea of Nurn is very lovely at this time of year.”

“And I have a pedicure appointment on Friday,” added the Witch King.  “They’re quite hard to come by, you know.”

“Whatever,” sighed Khamûl.

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile on the pinnacle of Orthanc

‘I could warn Galadriel or Elrond, possibly even both of them, telepathically that I am imprisoned here. After all, we are capable of telepathy. But my heart tells me that this is too perilous. The Enemy might have hacked into our telepathy account. I think I’d better wait. Maybe an eagle will come along and rescue me. I quite fancy an eagle ride. Yes, I’ll wait.”

oOoOoOo

The following week in Barad-dûr

“So, let’s go over this again, gentlemen. Who are you?”

“The Nine, the Ringwraiths, the nazgûl.”

“And what do you do?”

“We strike lethal fear into the heart of every mortal.”

“And how do you do it?”

“Um…”

“Err…”

“I know, I know, sir, we’re looking really menacing!” piped up Khamûl.

“That’s right,” added the Witch King, “and we move about in a creepy kind of way, and sniff and hiss, like so: Sssssssssssssssssss…”

 “And all mortals cower before us and do our bidding!”

“Yeah!”

“Right!”

“Unless…”

“What?” Sauron and the nazgûl turned and stared at the Mouth of Sauron.

“Unless, pardon me for pointing this out, just speaking from experience here, unless people are a bit assertive and firmly tell them No. Then the lethal nazgûl tend to back off. Or if there’s a fire. Or if someone mentions the name of that star bitch or sings some Elven songs. They don’t like water much either, or steep slopes… Well, it’s true!”

The Mouth of Sauron looked defiant. The nazgûl shuffled their feet.

“Weeeeell,” said the Witch King, “there may be one or two little things that we find a bit off-putting. But other than that, we are absolutely terrifying! And lethal!”

“Yeah!” chorused the other nazgûl. “Totally!”

“Off with you then,” said Sauron. “And remember to stay on the road. I hired the horses at the standard rate, and if you take them off-road, I’ll have to pay a surcharge that I’ll take out of your wages.”

“What if the Baggins brat leaves the road, my lord?” asked Khamûl.

“Oh, don’t be silly.”

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile at Isengard

‘I should really kill Gandalf to make sure he can’t interfere ever again. Oh, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Various Tactical Errors Cancel Each Other Out

In the first chapter we have established that both heroes and villains aren’t really in much of a hurry to get on with the plot.  At least Frodo and his friends are finally on the road, as are the nazgûl. Back at Barad-dûr, Sauron wonders whether he should perhaps gather some armies and attack Minas Tirith now, but decides it would be better to wait for the spring. At Isengard, Saruman postpones the killing of Gandalf for another day.

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile in the Woody End of the Shire

“Can I see the map, Mr Frodo?”

“Um, I didn’t bring a map.”

“Why not?”

“Because, um, it would have taken up too much space.”

“They can be folded, you know, meaning no disrespect.”

Frodo stared ahead trying to hide his irritation.

“We should stop at the next village and buy a map,” Sam went on.

“I’d rather not.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t bring much money.”

“Why –”

“I just didn’t, okay?!” snapped Frodo and stormed ahead. Pippin followed him hastily, making urgent faces at Sam over his shoulder.

Sam trudged on. “Five months of preparation, eh?” he muttered under his breath.

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile back on the road

“They came off the road here and disappeared into the woods.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I could smell them quite clearly, and the Ring was calling to me as well.”

“Why didn’t you follow them?”

“Why should I pay for the off-road surcharge?”

oOoOoOo

The next day, somewhere in the Woody End

Gildor Inglorion looked at his irate girlfriend in bafflement. “What do you mean, do something about it?”

“Gildor! Young Baggins is being followed by nazgûl and you just let him wander off with nothing but some half-assed advice?”

“Hush, do not mention them, even in the bright day of the Shire!”

“That’s what’s worrying you?” She clenched her fists in disbelief. “That bothers you? Don’t be so fricking superstitious! Nazgûl, nazgûl, nazgûl!  There, nothing happened. In the meantime, though, the nazgûl are hunting down those poor hobbits and you haven’t lifted a finger to help them.”

“We gave them quite a nice supper last night,” he pointed out.

“Great, that’s a lot of help!”

“I suppose we could…”

“Yes, what?” She tapped her foot.

“Send some messages out, tell folk that Frodo is on his way.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?”

“Well, we’ll send them only to the people who know about it.”

She suppressed a scream. “I despair of you, I really do.”

oOoOoOo

A little while later at the Maggots’ farm

“Stay for supper, Mr Baggins.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Maggot, but I really need to hurry and get away from those Black Riders.”

“I can give you a lift to the ferry.”

“Brilliant! Black Riders could never catch me whilst I’m travelling on a farm cart. To the supper table, my friends!”

oOoOoOo

Some time later by the ferry

Three nazgûl stared at the bare jetty.

“You let him get away, you numpty,” said the first.

“Well, you let him get away yesterday, so there,” the second replied.

“Gentlemen, please,” said the third, “can we try and find a constructive solution? There is a bridge about twenty miles north from here. We know the Baggins brat is on his way to Crickhollow; we can be there in a few hours. Let’s finish this tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the second. “I’m kind of all worn out from tramping through this horrible countryside. I want a rest. The Baggins brat will still be in Crickhollow tomorrow.” He turned to the first. “What do you say?”

“My horse has lost a shoe.”

“That settles it then.”

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile in Crickhollow

Having narrowly escaped Black Riders, Frodo is delighted to have reached the safety of an unfortified house which he had given as his mail-forwarding address. He feels sure the Enemy cannot get him now, because the door is closed. He luxuriates in his bath and then has a lengthy supper.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Merry while Pippin and Sam licked their plates.

“Dunno,” replied Frodo. “How quickly could the Black Riders get here?”

“Well, they could be here by now,” said Merry pointedly.

“And how quickly could we get away?”

“Pretty much immediately. The ponies are ready, the luggage is ready; so if we all just nip to the loo, we can perhaps escape. You know, just in case you want to avoid being caught.”

“Oh, I’m not sure. There’s all these dishes to wash; it’s slovenly to leave them. And Pippin still has to mop up the water in the bathroom.  Let’s sleep over it and leave tomorrow. I dare say they won’t come tonight.”

“If you say so,” said Merry, slightly miffed that his efficiency had been disregarded.  

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile somewhere to the south of the Shire.

A dozen Rangers were seated around a campfire, toasting marshmallows. Their horses ambled about in the soft grass.

“Just a thought,” said one of the Rangers, a formidable fellow with shoulders as broad as an oxen yoke, “maybe we should go after them. If we take the Greenway, we can probably catch up with Aragorn in Bree. Aragorn thought it would be good if we escorted these hobbits, so let’s do it.”

“No,” said Halbarad. “We must stick to Gandalf’s plan.”

“What exactly is Gandalf’s plan?”

Halbarad scratched his head. “Um, to trust in courage and good fortune, I think. More marshmallows, anyone?”

 oOoOoOo

The next day, in the Old Forest

“You know what would be a really great invention?” said Pippin while the hobbits scrambled down another steep-walled ravine that was leading them in the wrong direction entirely. “A device that tells you where north is.”

“That already exists,” said Merry. “It’s called a map.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” replied Pippin, unruffled by the dripping sarcasm in Merry’s voice.  “I mean something you could carry around with you that would point to the north from wherever you are standing.”

“Oh, I see.” Merry stopped and looked back to where Frodo and Sam were more sliding than climbing down the bank. “That does sound useful, but I don’t think it is possible. It would be beyond the magic of even the greatest elven craftsmen.”

“More magical than rings that make you invisible?” asked Pippin.

“Um… Let’s stop for a snack, shall we?”

 oOoOoOo

A day later, at the Golden Perch in Stock

Three nazgûl were seated at a table in the corner by the fireplace. One was slumped over and snoring softly. The second was gesturing to the barkeep for more beer. The third was sitting primly upright and an expression of exasperation was discernible in the set of his shoulders. This was the one who went by the name of Jûnior.

“I think you should stop drinking, Jasûn,” he said. “We have already lost two days to your little pit stop.”

“Ah, don’t be such a party pooper.” Jasûn slammed his tankard on the table. “This is the best beer in the Eastfarthing, nay, in the whole Shire! Don’t you agree, Jordûn?” He nudged the slumped-over nazgûl who responded with nothing more than a muffled groan.

“We could be back on our way home by now,” whined Jûnior. “The Boss might give us a bonus for being the ones who brought him the Ring. But, oh, no, you two had to come here and drink like…like…”

“If you can’t think of a good metaphor, shut up,” said Jasûn.

“Simile,” mumbled Jordûn.

“What?”

“If you use ‘like’ or ‘as’ then it’s a simile, not a metaphor. I’m not drunk, you know. Just tired.” With considerable effort, he lifted his head off the table. “Anyways. Back to work tomorrow!”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

oOoOoOo

Some time later, at the edge of the Barrow-Downs

After much waving, Goldberry lowered her arm and rubbed the aching muscles. She returned to the house, closed the door and put on her pink pompom slippers. When she entered the kitchen, she found to her surprise that Tom was sitting on a stool by the window with a glass in his hand.

“Tom! What are you doing?”

“Ding-dong, dongle-on, derridel, my hearty! Tom is having a little tipple after his long labours.”

“That’s not what we agreed!”

“Dim-dumb, gristlethumb, what did we agree, my dearie?”

“You know exactly what we agreed!”

“Tin drum, icky scum, remind me, please, my petal. This mead has gone to Tom’s head a little.”

“We agreed that you would follow the hobbits discreetly in case they got into any trouble. Do I need to remind you, too, that those Barrow-Downs are crawling with wights who like nothing better than prey on innocent travellers?”

“Ping-pong, singalong, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“They could get killed?”

“Well, yeah, maybe, but I don’t have time to be frolicking about the countryside with some hobbits. I have flowers to pick, and Goldberry is waiting.”

“I am Goldberry! And you, Tom Bombadil, will go after them now, double-quick!”

oOoOoOo

Another two days later, still at the Golden Perch in Stock

“I suppose we’d better get going. Barkeep, the bill please!”

The bill turned out to cause considerable embarrassment to the nazgûl, who could only rustle up three halfpennies and a half-eaten pear from their pockets. Shortly afterwards, they found themselves in the inn’s kitchen, washing dishes.

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile, somewhere in Eriador

“No, good sir,” said the milk maid, “never heard of it. Are you sure elves live there? I thought they were just the stuff of stories, not real.”

“Well,” said Boromir, straightening up his tunic, “I am not entirely sure, but I had this dream. It was like a poem and a riddle. Seek for the sword that was broken, In Imladris it dwells…”

“Shame you didn’t dream a map to go with it, sir,” replied the milk maid. “Or at least some decent directions. What do you need a broken sword for anyway? I see you have quite a big, strong sword there on … your belt.” She winked.

Boromir felt himself blush and hastily mounted his horse. “Good day,” he cried and cantered off.

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile in Bree

With screams of frustration, the nazgûl kicked at the bedsteads and slashed at the pillows and bolsters.

“Quick, let’s search the rest of the inn!” hissed the one known as Kevûn.

“No,” replied the one called Rûmeo. “They are gone.”

“Fiddlesticks!  We know they’re here.”

“That Ferny dude said they would be in this room and they’re not,” observed the one who went by the name of Lûrri.

“Then clearly they have gone to a different room, you pestilent waste of space!”

“There’s no need to be offensive. Khamûl said only to search one room.”

“Why in Middle-earth would he say that?”

“Dunno. Good sportsmanship, I think. Anyway,” said Rûmeo and drew himself up to his full height, an effect that was slightly spoiled when he hit his head on the low ceiling, “I am in charge tonight. We’ll go back and report to Khamûl and Witchy.”

“Can we at least drive off all the horses and ponies?”

“Oh, all right then.”

 oOoOoOo

A few days later at Imladris

The soft light of the dancing flames in the fireplace lit Elrond’s face. His face was ageless, neither young nor old, but the recent shenanigans about the seating plans for the Yule celebrations had left him with dark rings under his eyes. And now this.

“Do we really have to do anything about it?” he asked in the voice of a long-suffering housekeeper.

“Of course we do,” replied Glorfindel with energy. “We need to set a watch, both at the Last Bridge and at the ford to make sure the servants of the Enemy won’t waylay the Ringbearer at these bottlenecks.”

“There are not many of us who can ride openly against the Nine,” wailed Elrond.

“We can rustle up a few,” said Glorfindel. “At a pinch, I’m willing to take on all nine at once, and you could do the same. It’s not as if they’re balrogs.”

“No,” said Elrond. “I feel one of my migraines coming on. But ride to the Last Bridge by all means. Here –” He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a gemstone. “–here’s a pretty trinket that you could put on the Bridge.”

“What is this, a treasure hunt?” snapped Glorfindel.

“Ah,” said Elrond with a sigh, “that would be fun. Let’s have one next week. But for now, alas, duty calls. I must consult with Cook about the menu.”

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile at Weathertop

Peering down at the road from the exposed summit of the hill, Frodo, Merry and Strider could discern five black figures riding towards each other on the road, two from the east and three from the west. When they met, they huddled together and one pointed at the hill where Strider and the hobbits crouched. He waved.

“Crumbs,” whispered Frodo, “they’ve seen us. Whatever shall we do now?”

“Don’t fret, there is hope yet” replied Strider. “Sam and Pippin must have found the firewood by now that my pals usually stash in the dell. We’ll have a barbeque and a singalong.”

“You cannot be serious!” cried Frodo.

“I am always serious.” Strider arranged his featured to look sterner than ever. “Now I come to think of it,” he chattered as they walked down the hillside towards the dell, “it kind of does make sense that the Enemy had this place watched. It’s like the biggest landmark for miles and miles around. And chances of meeting Gandalf here were always minuscule. We should have come a different way.”

“Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve,” grumbled Merry. 

oOoOoOo

The following day, somewhere in the wilderness

“We should have persevered!” growled Khamûl. “We were that close to getting that flaming ring!”

“But there were five of them and only five of us, and they had a fire!” said Lûrri.

“And why were there only five of us, you squirming maggot? Whose idea was it that some of us should chase after that blasted wizard? Who came up with that bloody stupid idea?”

“That would have been me,” said the Witch King.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” stuttered Khamûl. “I was sure it was Lûrri. I do seem to recall that Lûrri said –”

“Oh, shut up! Even if we’d all been there, we wouldn’t have succeeded. The Halfling shouted the name of Her That Shall Not Be Named. My ears are still ringing.”

“It’s high time we dealt with this little problem. I heard you can get desensitisation therapy and  –”

“I said SHUT UP!”

The Witch King pulled his robe closer round his shoulder and rode off into the sunset. Then, realising his mistake, he turned his horse and rode east. “Don’t you dare say a word, any of you!” he roared as he galloped past his colleagues.

oOoOoOo

Eleven days later, at Imladris

“I worry about Frodo so, Gandalf,” said Bilbo. “Won’t you ride out and meet him on the road? At least as far as the ford?”

“All in good time, my dear Bilbo. First I need to get the corn on my left foot seen to.”

oOoOoOo

The following day, in a small drawing room at Barad-dûr

Sauron and the Mouth of Sauron were sitting in front of the palantir, a bowl of popcorn between them.

“Get off the line, Saruman,” said Sauron testily. “We’re about to watch the final chase. Tonight, the Ring will be mine!”

The Mouth of Sauron looked at his master as if he expected something.

“What?” snapped Sauron.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Mouth. “I just thought that would have been a good moment to say MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

“Shhhhh, here it comes!” Sauron leaned forward as the image in the palantir began to home in on the Ford of Bruinen. Sunlight glinted on the rippling waters. To both sides of the river, the land was flat, treeless and entirely empty.

“Where are they?” whispered Mouth.

“Um, they’re hiding in ambush,” replied Sauron.

“Where?”

“Somewhere behind the rocks over there.”

“That’s quite far away,” said Mouth.

“The curved surface of the palantir distorts the real proportions. And now be quiet. They can be here any minute now.”

Indeed, he had barely finished his sentence when a group of figures could be seen emerging from the shade of the pine trees.

“Rats, they have a filthy elf with them!” cried Mouth.

“I said, be quiet!”

They watched as the group inched towards the ford, then suddenly the white horse leapt forward and sped away. At the same moment, several black horses burst out of the wood.

“Go!” Sauron whooped. “Go, go, go, GO!” 

“Where’s the ambush?” asked Mouth.

The ambush did in fact make an appearance just then. For an instant, it looked as if the nazgûl would reach the ford first, but seconds later the white horse ploughed through the water and climbed up on the far bank.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…!” shrieked Sauron and Mouth in unison.

“Wait, they can still get him,” cried Sauron.

“You’ll hurt your eye getting so close to the screen,” said Mouth.

“Shut up. Look, Witchy has almost made it! Go, Witchy, go!”

The Witch King’s horse was about to set hoof on the far bank, when some kind of interference seemed to blur the image.

“What’s going on?”

“For pity’s sake, it’s that thrice-cursed river!” Sauron yelled. “Look, it’s a flash flood! They’ll all get swept away!”

And right enough, the sudden assault of the waters overpowered the nazgûl who were in the middle of the stream. On the near shore, the nasty elf forced the remaining black horses into the flood. Only the Witch King still sat on his steed and a single leap forward would have brought him safely ashore.

“Go, Witchy!” cried Sauron. “You can make it!”

“Witchy! Go get him, boy!” Mouth’s voice squeaked with excitement.

At that moment, the Witch King’s horse plunged backward instead of forward and the last of the black shapes disappeared into the foaming white chaos.

Sauron curled up in a corner of the room and whimpered softly.

Elves Cannot Multitask

In the delightful house of Elrond in Rivendell, Elven voices resonated along every corridor, dry leaves blew in through the vastly attractive yet glassless windows, and a rather embarrassed-looking Erestor entered the bedchamber of one Boromir of Gondor.

Boromir looked up from his horn, which he had been fondling on his lap. “How can I help you?”

“Um, this is a little awkward,” said Erestor. “I was supposed to hand these out last week but I forgot. Would you mind filling this in now, as quickly as you can? Just so you can give them back to me before you set off tonight?” He proffered a bundle of parchments.

Boromir frowned, bewildered. “What is it?”

“Oh, just the evaluation form. So we can monitor the effectiveness of our services.”

“What do you mean – oh, never mind, pass it here.” He grabbed the parchments and flung them on the tastefully carved desk.

“Thank you so much. And my apologies for the delay.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Erestor shut the door behind him in silence.

With a sigh, Boromir picked up the parchments and glanced over them. On the sheets were drawn a number of large boxes, each with a heading at the top. He scanned them quickly. Then he let he parchments sink. “Are they mad? How accessible did I find – what does that even mean?” He put his feet up on the desk and began to attack his molars with a toothpick.  After a while, he picked up the parchments again and considered them with a friendlier eye. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing that he was asked for his opinion. Frankly, he had a whole lot of sticky points which somehow he had been too polite to mention and which therefore were slowly choking him up. For a start, why couldn’t the fricking Elves multitask? Sending out scouts and waiting weeks and weeks for them to come back and only after all the scouts return does it occur to them to reforge that sword of Aragorn’s? Actually, during that entire time, his designated companions were behaving as if they were on holiday with not a care in the world. And then, after the return of the scouts, they suddenly run around like headless chickens, looking for backpacks, checking out maps, scrabbling for supplies. That would have all been done weeks ago, if anyone had listened to him. But no, “All in good time,” Gandalf had said, and the good time seemed to be the very last minute when everyone just grabbed what they could. He’d seen that hobbit Samwise pack pipeweed and salt, but no rope! He, Boromir, had a rope in his pack, as one should never travel without, but he intended not to advertise the fact. Anyway, here was a chance to let those fancy-pants Elves have a piece of his mind.

How effectively has your stay in Imladris prepared you for your upcoming journey?

Well, I’m quite an experienced traveller and warrior, wrote Boromir, so I was already pretty well prepared before I arrived here. But given the quest we are facing, it would have made sense to discuss a few questions in more detail, for example: Which route are we going to take? Will we attempt to cross the Misty Mountains and if so, where and how? What alternative route will we take if crossing the mountains should prove impossible? Are there any allies along our way who might render assistance? From which direction will the fellowship approach Mordor and how might the Black Gate be overcome? I pointed out these and many other questions, but Gandalf’s reply was that we should “not look too far ahead.” This does not strike me as effective forward planning. Also, some weapons practice for those young hobbits and a First Aid refresher course for us all would have been useful.

Ah, it felt good to get that off his chest. He turned the page and read the next question.

How do you rate the overall effectiveness of the presentations given at the council?

Effectiveness? He wasn’t sure what would count as effectiveness in this context, but what had shocked him and still made him shake his head all these weeks later was the utter incompetence of just about everybody that had come to light at the Council. The dwarves had waited a whole year before they decided to warn Bilbo that Sauron was after him. The Mirkwod Elves had let the creature Gollum escape, because they could not watch a prisoner and fend off an attack at the same time – no multitasking, remember? Gandalf had seen that there was a narrow stair leading off the tower of Orthanc but instead of taking this obvious route of escape he had sat down on the pinnacle twiddling his thumbs in the hope some obliging eagle would pass by. Aragorn had led the hobbits to every single bottleneck at which the servants of the Enemy could have waylaid them – it was just as well that these Ringwraiths were so easily scared off and apparently totally incapacitated by the loss of their horses and robes. And Elrond, what about Elrond’s story of the distant past?  If Elrond and his fellow Elves knew that the Ring had to be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom, why in Middle-earth did they let Isildur get away with keeping it?

Boromir’s quill was poised for a mighty rant, but he reined himself in at the last moment. It would not do to insult his host and all his companions. He would have to get on with these people for goodness knew how long. So instead he wrote: The presentations by Elrond and Gandalf were a bit too long and not all the details were relevant. Some visual aids, for example maps, would have been useful.

The next box was headed: How fully were your objectives met?

How fully were his objectives met? Well, this at least was easy. He had found the sword that was broken, seen the Halfling and Isildur’s Bane. With hindsight, he might ask whether it had been worth this whole long journey just to solve some riddle, but that was his own problem.  The answer to the question on the sheet was clear: Fully. He turned another page and read:

How accessible did you find the materials provided by your host?

What materials were they? There had been no agenda circulated prior to the Council of Elrond and there had been no hand-outs. Or did they mean the supplies for the journey which had been so haphazardly thrown together during the last few days? But the word “accessible” could hardly be applied here. After some deliberation Boromir decided to put three question marks into the box. On to the next question:

How will you implement what you have learned in Imladris in your professional practice?

Would it be possible to answer this question without resorting to sarcasm? Boromir reckoned that he had been very restrained so far and might be allowed to indulge himself a little. He wrote:

In my future professional practice, I will trust in courage and chance rather than strategic planning and rational preparation. I will always take my time, no matter how urgent my errand. Then, when it is almost too late, I will make great haste. I will reject any prudent course of action with some vague hints about potential dangers and then pursue a much more dangerous option instead, claiming that it just cannot be helped. I will discuss highly confidential matters behind closed doors but with open windows. I will rely on gut feeling rather than logical deduction. For key positions, I will pick the least qualified candidates, working on the assumption that they have hidden qualities which even the wise cannot tell. I will –

He hesitated and read over what he had written. Hastily, he scribbled out the last box and wrote into the margin: With discretion. Now onto the last page.

How suitable did you find the accommodation?  He looked at the piles of leaves that had accumulated just that day in every corner of the room. If you had rectangular windows instead of fancy curly ones, he wrote, you’d be able to fit window panes. This would also cut down on your heating bills.

That seemed to be pretty much it. He considered briefly commenting on the lack of security. After all, they had allowed him into the house and even into the Council without any kind of proof that he actually was who he claimed to be. But he felt he had been critical enough and should probably close on a more positive note. He pondered.

The catering was very good, he wrote at long last into the box for general comments, especially the little pink cakes with the almonds on top.

Two hours later, the company was finally ready to start their journey. They were supposed to leave Imladris secretly, so just to mark his disapproval of the general ineffectiveness, Boromir blew a mighty note on his horn. Back in the Last Homely Home, having taken only seventy-seven years to not quite finish his first book, Bilbo decided to start another one.