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As narrated by..

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the Bible (King James Version):

<i>1 And the Five went unto Rivendell, which is called Imladris by the Elves.

2 And with Frodo were Meriadoc, and Peregrin, and Aragorn son of Arathorn, and the Gardener Whom Frodo Loved.

3 And they went unto the House of Elrond. And Elrond summoned a great council, and summoned elves from Mirkwood, which was Greenwood before the reign of Thranduil. And also men from Gondor, and from Dale, and Dwarves from Erebor unto the Lonely Mountain.

4 And Elrond spoke, saying, what shall we do with this Ring?

5 And Gandalf spoke, telling all of Gollum, and of Saruman, and the origin of the ring; and they slept. And they said, Gandalf, shut up.

6 And Gimli sayeth, shall we not leave the ring with the Elves? And Elrond grew wroth and rent his garment.

7 For Gandalf spoke, saying, verily verily I say unto you, the ring must be destroyed.

8 And Frodo at last spoke, saying, I shall take the ring, though I do not know the way. And they were glad.</i>
<HR>Agatha Christie:
<b>A Trip to Mordor is Announced</b>

“A visitor for you, Mister Frodot.”

“Is that so, Miss Lemon?” M. Frodot turned about in his chair to look at her, demi-tasse poised halfway between his lips and the saucer on the desk in front of him. “You did not tell me, did you, that I had further appointments aujourd’hui?”

“The gentleman does not have an appointment, Mister Frodot.” She pressed her lips together disapprovingly. “I suggested he might make one, but he insisted it is a most urgent matter.”

“I say!” exclaimed Pippin from the sofa, in between puffs of pipeweed. “What dashed rotten luck, to arrive unexpectedly in the middle of tea-time and demand…”

“Tais-toi, you fool of the Took,” Frodot said, though not ungently. He replaced the cup in its saucer and laced his fingers together over his waistcoat. “Alors, Miss Lemon, you may show him in.”

Miss Lemon stood aside and allowed the tall, bearded man in the pointed hat to enter the room. “Mister Gandalf LeGrey.” Behind his back she wrinkled her nose faintly in distaste.

The gentleman so announced strode across the room, staff thumping against the carpet. “Thank you for seeing me, Mister Frodot,” he said. His well-spoken, well-mannered voice was quite at odds with his disheveled appearance and long, unkempt beard rather like a charicature of a Balliol College professor which had gotten out of hand.

Instinctively Frodot began to stroke his perfectly groomed moustaches, and contemplated the gloriousness of his equally well-groomed barefeet beneath the desk. “Not at all, m’sieur. Won’t you please sit down?”

“Would the gentleman care for some tea?” Miss Lemon inquired sharply from the doorway. “Or a coffee, perhaps?”

LeGrey sat down and shook his head. Frodot raised one eyebrow at her and said, “Merci, Miss Lemon, that will be all. You may return to your making of the filing system which perfectly organizes the — comme on dit? — ’sundering’ of the elves.” She pressed her lips together once again and shut the door behind her as Frodot’s attention returned to his visitor. “Now, my good sir, how may I be of service?”

“I have a job for you, Mister Frodot.”

“And what sort of job is it you have, m’sieur?”

“I want you to lose something for me.”

Frodot did not respond immediately. “A most intriguing proposition, but I do not see how I can help. You do understand that I have the skill at finding that which is missing, not the other way around?”

“That I do indeed, Mister Frodot,” LeGrey replied, leaning over the desk. “I realize that this is not your speciality, but if anyone can figure out how to lose this particular. . . item, with no one being the wiser, it is you. You have a reputation for being the cleverest elvish detective that ever –”

“Bon Dieu,” Frodot interrupted, fuming, “I am not elvish, I am an ‘alfling!”

“Whatever you say, Mister Frodot, but you come very highly recommended. Will you take the job?”

“Et bien, what is it you wish me to lose for you, then?”

“This.” LeGrey drew a wad of cloth from his sleeve and, laying it on the desk, carefully unfolded it without touching the contents. Within the mass of white silk lay a plain gold ring.

Pippin joined them at the desk. “I say, that’s a jolly handsome ring. But why on earth can’t you lose it yourself?”

“Do not tempt me, Master Took!” LeGrey thundered.

“Oui, Pippin, you must exercise the little grey cells,” Frodot berated him. “It is clear from M. le Grey’s behavior that this is one of the rings de puissance — a ring of Power.”

LeGrey jumped to his feet and stared down at him in amazement. “That’s incredible, Mister Frodot; you’re absolutely right. How did you know?”

“Order and method, my dear M. le Grey,” Frodot replied with a wink, tapping his forehead. “Now, you must tell me one more thing: where is it you should like for it to be disposed?”

LeGrey collapsed into his chair and pulled a face. It was some moments before he spoke. “The Land of Mordor,” he intoned.

“Murder?” Pippin squeaked. “I say, that’s smashing. If there’s one thing Frodot knows, it’s murder! When do we leave?”
<HR>Jane Austen:
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single hobbit in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of an adventure.

However little known the feelings or views of such a hobbit may be on his first receiving his inheritance, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of wandering wizards, that he is considered as the rightful recipient of one or the other of their magic rings.

“My dear Mr. Sackville-Baggins,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Bag End is vacant at last?”

Mr. Sackville-Baggins replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she, “for Mrs. Bracegirdle has just been here, and she has told me all about it.”

Mr. Sackville-Baggins made no answer.

“Do you not want to know what has happened?” cried his wife impatiently.

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Bracegirdle says that the ring was taken by a young hobbit of large fortune and is heading east to Rivendell; that he eloped secretly with the wizard Gandalf, who has a fortune of six thousand a year, and that he is to remain in sole possession until Michelmas; though the Lord Sauron de Morder has indicated his evident displeasure and refused to give his consent; and, my dear, Gandalf’s fortune is nothing compared to his; it is certain that some of his servants are to be in close pursuit by the end of next week.”
<HR>Sigmund Freud:

The ring is clearly a symbol of the mother-figure with which the bearer feels the irresistable urge to thrust his finger (obviously a phallic symbol). The ensuing penetration of the ring is accompanied by a deep sense of elation but also a deep sub-concious shame manifested by the sudden invisibility. The ring wearer does not want others to witness his shaming fetish but is also, at the same time, acutely aware that a sudden disappearence must bring acute attention upon him. Therefore, the ring bearer must find a private moment in which to succumb to the guilty pleasure of the ring.

It is interesting to note that the urge to wear the ring becomes irresistably strong in the prescence of the Nazgul, obviously representing the 9 faces of fatherhood. The father figure sublimating his own acts of unconcious jealously towards the adopted son for his lust acts as a reinforcer towards the sons manifest desire.

The Fellowship in this case clearly represents the sons attempt to overthrow his father in order to fully take advantage of his lust for his mother. Each charecter in the fellowship corresponds to a different facet of the personality and they are constantly in conflict with each other over the desired action that they must take.

The creation of the ring itself must be noted as interesting as it was the original Ur-Father figure who manifested such an entity. From this, it is clear that the son figure is projecting his own unconcious lust upon his father. This is probably an sub-concious attempt to rationalise the killing of his father. The proposed destruction of the ring is a vain attempt to remove the power from his over controlling father and break away in order to gain his own freedom of action. However, it is clear that the son figure could never really destroy is lust and merely tries to repress it until the pressure becomes so intense that he finally performs a complete shift in personality and embraces his mother-lust.
<HR>Terry Pratchett:

‘It was a dark night in the Shire. Being a rather dull but sensible people, few asked questions on what could be going on outside on such a dark night, and it was generally agreed that this was a Good Thing. In fact, very little ever did go on, which would have been a Very Good Thing Indeed if anyone had ever ventured out to see.
‘But tonight was no ordinary night. Today, dark powers were focussing their efforts on this peaceful village. Shadowy figures were converging, drawn to something so small and so innocuous that you’d be forgiven for snorting through your nose on hearing about it. And this thing, the centre of all these unwanted attentions, was a ring*.

*The philosopher and Istari Laot-se Phungle finally demonstrated that, of all objects which a sensible person would possibly want to put their power into, a ring is one of the most useless and pointless**, coming just before the platypus and, even worse, another person. Most useful was a filling. Since few truly evil people really want to put their money where their mouth is, they normally would not want to do such a thing, base on the simple equation ‘Money = Power’.
**Incidentally, it was also the most common, according to a survey by Cosm.***
***A magazine containing not only poinless and potentially inaccurate quizzes, but recursive asterisks to boot.
<HR>Dr Seuss:

The water ran out.
And then I saw the Ring!
A ring in the tub!
And, oh boy what a thing!
A shiny, gold one ring!
The letter like orange ink!
And I said, “Will this be
destroyed? I don’t think!”
<HR>Lewis Carrol:

Frodo was beginning to get very tired of living with his uncle Bilbo in Hobbiton and of having nothing to do: once or twice he had peeped into the red book in which Bilbo was writing, but he couldn’t make it out and it did not have enough pictures of elves, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Frodo `without pictures of elves?’

So he was considering in his own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made him feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of having an ale with Sam in Bywater would be worth the trouble of getting up and collecting Same, when suddenly a dwarf with a blue hood and walking stick ran close by him.

There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Frodo think it so very much out of the way to hear the Dwarf say to himself, `Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late! And Balin will be so angry with me’ (when he thought it over afterwards, it occurred to him that he ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the dwarf actually took a large axe out of its belt, and swung it a few times as if preparing for battle, and then hurried on, Frodo started to his feet, for it flashed across his mind that he had never before seen a Dwarf in Hobbiton with either an axe or a belt to remove it from, and burning with curiosity, he ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Frodo after it, never once considering how in the world he was to get out again. The hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Frodo had not a moment to think about stopping himself before he found himself falling down a very deep well.

Either the well was very deep, or he fell very slowly, for he had plenty of time as he went down to look about him and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, he tried to look down and make out what he was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then he looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there he saw maps of Middle Earth and pictures of dragons hung upon pegs. He took down a jar from one of the shelves as he passed; it was labeled `LEMBAS,’ but to his great disappointment it was empty…
<HR>Stephen King:

1. Gandalf Takes A Fall

Standing there, in the dark, Frodo Baggins reckoned he knew a lot about fear. He had begun to find out about it after The Party (and everyone said it that way, The Party, so you could hear the capital letters), when he had been come into possession of a certain ring, a very precious one, oh yes friends and neighbors.

And when he became aware that there really were shambling dark riders that came a-hunting Hobbits–that they were real, not just stories told by firelight to scare young Hobbits in their dark holes, why, then, fear had become his constant companion, closer even than Sam. Sam, who stood beside him in the dark with the others as the sound of distant drums echoed crazily through the caverns, sounding for all the world like a demented rock and roll band.

But now, here in Moria, the true measure of fear was upon him and he felt it like the icy breath of a barrow-wight on the nape of his neck, obscenely familiar.

Even Gandalf was scared, you could see it in the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped his staff. And if Gandalf was scared, then you could be pretty fucking sure that some bad shit was going to go down. Because Gandalf was their leader. He bound the Fellowship together with his friendship and his firm voice (only hadn’t he said something once about stuttering as a kid?) and yet here he was with that look in his eyes that said, Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ, thought Gandalf. It’s here, isn’t it? Here. He could feel its presence, some malign thing. It wouldn’t be long now. He could sense the

(balrog)

creature rising slowly from the slime of the pit, then more steadily. Then it was coming fast.

Then it came.

It was a ravening beast, manlike, deep flaming blackness (and were there wings or not? Gandalf thought crazily) and then it was upon him with its whip and flame and fear. He met it with all his power and as it struggle with him, he felt the bridge begin to give underneath them, and he had time to yell “Fly, you fools,” and think, oh shit, and then he was gone.

Into the dark.
<HR>Jack Kerouac:

There were some kicks in The Shire but the world was calling and Frodo’s offer seemed to stir something almost holy in me. We had a few more drinks then called on Merry and Pippin for a laugh. We were never ones to travel heavy but the extra voices sounded good in the night and by the time the sun was up we’d raided Bag End for all the smoke we could carry and had decided to follow the directions the old man had given us, even though it seemed unlikely he’d ever really join us at the Pony. I tell you all this because what happened after the old man didn’t join us is a tale that’s too good to tell and you can either believe in it and feel the spirit of what were beating out of the countryside with every footfall or disregard it as an entertaining bit of fiction. Either way, it’s my tale to tale and that’s the way it started that summer.
<HR>Edgar Allen Poe:

Once upon a morning sunny, while I breakfasted, eggs so runny,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of elvish lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my Bag-End door.
“Tis some relative,” I muttered, “tapping at my Bag-End door-
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the late September;
And each separate hobbit wrought requests upon my door.
Eagerly I wished the evening;-when I would be softly leaving
From my home in the West Farthing-for an elven shore-
For the rare and radiant Rivendell, told in elven lore-
Imladris here for evermore.

And the shiny, tempting feeling of my secret ring
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“Tis some relative entreating entrance at my Bag-End door-
Some blasted relative entreating entrance at my Bag-End door;-
This is it and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew strong; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I am not admitting, definitely not admitting
Anyone except upon official party business, I implore.
Go away!” said I-and then a voice outside the door;-
“What about old friends?” it said, and nothing more.

Open wide the door flinging, long I stood there wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no hobbit ever dared to dream before
But my eyes did not deceive me, for there stood tall before me
My old friend the wizard Gandalf, beloved the Shire o’er!
My dear friend the wizard Gandalf, whom I had known before.
“Come in, come in,” said I, and behind him shut the door.
<HR>William Shakespeare:

Boromir: God Sirs! An let me speak! Gondor lies sieged, imperiled and distressed
Your shield these centuries passed, yet none will move to save her?
Prithee, give to us Men the Ring this night!
That Mordor might be turned by force of might!

Elrond: Be not offended, Boromir, but thy council ringeth hollow,
and sounds near-perfect echo with Isildur’s failed ambition:
which disaster lead us twistly onto this disastrous path.
And all in Middle Earth exposed to Saurons’ wrath.

Frodo: This is the air, and that the glorious sun.
This Ring he gave me, I do feel’t and see’t
And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus, yet tis not madness.
If ’tis my fate this ill Band to return, so be’t.

Elrond:See, all! This Hobbit by his faith and honor can
the supplications of the ring withstand.
Where others might bethink themselves,
with such great power, kings-by strength of hand
I do think the Half the Halflings lack’s
the lesser half of Dwarves or Men or Elves.

Aragorn:So shall it be. An fellowship of Elf and Dwarf and Man
Shall succor and defend him, as we can.
Tonight, in Rivendell we’ll play your guest
Tomorrow, for the march we are addrest.
<HR>E. E. Cummings:

all in black went nazgul riding
on a great wyrm of night
into the fires of mordor

four lean orcs crouched low and snarling
the merry, pippin ran before.

fleeter be they than shire honey
the short sweet shirelings
the happy halflings

sword at hip went nazgul riding
riding the screams down
into the midnight dawn.

four lean orcs crouched low and snarling
the folk of rohan ran before.

swifter be they than seeking sight
the proud plains folk
the strong steed folk

four fleet elves at a deep helm
the famished arrows sang before.

bow at belt went nazgul riding
riding the nightmares
down into the darkest mines.

four lean orcs crouched low and snarling
the snowy peaks ran before.

paler be they than daunting death
the fierce foul urk-hai
the sharp strange urk-hai.

four tall ents at a brown valley
the fires of isengard sang before.

all in black went nazgul riding
on a great wyrm of night
into the fires of mordor

four stout halflings crouched low and smiling
evil fell dead before.
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WARNING: LONG READ!

Gary @ 03 Feb 2004 :: Old Deadjournal posts :: No Comments »