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"Yipes!" Boromir�s grips on the elven rope was suddenly gone, and he found himself clutching thin air! Luckily, his reflexes were quite fast (practice from all that polishing), and his fingers found the rope again. "Darn nab it!" He muttered under his breath, "A faulty move like that! What folly!" He rolled his eyes in the dark, "You�d think someone was trying to curse me or something!"
Suddenly, the rope jerked funnily, and then, was still again. Darn that elf! Should have got someone more reliable, such as Aragorn or Gandalf, or even Samwise Gamgee (with glasses, of course). But no. He had chosen the elf. Darn that elf! Boromir snarled to himself, bearing his teeth. Still, this was not going to help him find the last tube of Gondor shield wax he had. He continued to descend into the darkness.
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Saurman screeched with frustration, throat letting loose a gigantic roar. With his skinny but strong fingers, he shoved the offender against the wall, gripping his throat. The little dwarf gave a small squeak, but the wizard squeezed tighter, and the sound was gone. Filled with disgust, Saurman reached for the gigantic can of black spray paint and tossed it as far as he could. With his face an inch from the dwarf�s the wizard gave a low growl and barked, "Don�t you EVER even THINK about GRAFFITING up my TOWER again you little PUNK!"
And with a final slam against the tower, he pitched the dwarf as far as he would go. Saurman barked something at the dwarf and sent him scurrying. There. Enough of that. The wizard stalked off to his wooden shed in the back of Isengard and drew out another tin of paint with a brush, starting to paint over the words �THIS TOWER IS NOT RIPE� which were spray painted on the side. Darn those nasty dwarves. Ever since Moria shut down, couldn�t find a place to graffiti, he supposed.
With that task finally done, the wizard put away the can of paint and was about to return inside when he remembered the spray can. Hmm. Someone else may pick it up. Besides, it ruined his yard with its presence. Saurman looked around for it, but the can was no where to be found. Hmm. How particular. Suddenly, a particular sound caught his ear. Cheering? Perhaps? He walked around to the front of the tower to find millions forming a milling crowd around the front, all screaming something at the top of their lungs!
Wow! What popularity! Saurman grinned. Something was going right! He shoved his way to the front of the line, "Welcome, all, to OZ!" He had just warmed up to his pre-planned speech when the entire crowd fell silent. "Yes, my dear . . ." He faltered and scanned the crowd, "Peoples! This is the Emerald City!"
"Emerald City?" The crowd murmured, and all began pointing to the top of the tower. Saurman looked too, unfortunately.
One look was all it took. The wizard let loose a terrific growl that could be surely heard in Mordor! Eyes flashing, Saurman roared, "WHO SPRAYPAINTED MY TOWER?!" But it was all too obvious. In clear black spray painted words, there read upon Isengard, an inscription. The wizard griped as he read it again, �ONE TOWER TO RULE THEM ALL, ONE TOWER TO FIND THEM, ONE TOWER TO BRING THEM ALL, AND IN THE DARKNESS . . . SUPER MEGA ESTATE SALE!�
"There is NO estate sale!" Saurman continued, "I am not SELLING anything and I am not DEAD!"
"Darn nab it!" Someone in the crowd griped, "I thought I could find myself some nice wizard�s robes on cheap!" And apparently, the entire crowd was there for some type of sale, hoping big sale of goods. Wizards always had good stuff, and at good prices too. Especially at those estate sales. Saurman could hardly blame them. When Georgio the Green had kicked the bucket a few centuries back, he himself had picked up a nice flying horse and a Ring of Power (which he quickly sold to a passing king) for next to nothing. Hmm.
Saurman stalked off, "Just wait until I find that dwarf!"
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The Fellowship had decided to stop to allow the hobbits to catch their breath, as well as for Boromir (who had MYSTERIOUSLY disappeared) to catch up. Gandalf pulled out a thick book from his bundle and began to read. Frodo, who was sitting beside him, wrinkled his nose and asked, "The Art of Tai Chi?"
"Yes." Gandalf sniffled, turning the page, "It is very good."
"Sure." Legolas stole the book and thumbed through it quickly, "Hmm. Very pretty. Must learn." And he thumbed through the book again, tossing it back to Gandalf. "There. All done. I�ve got it!"
"Let�s see then." The wizard frowned, "The elf doing Tai Chi! What a laugh!" Legolas snorted angrily (he had managed to unstick his legs by now), and marched to the center of the cavern.
"Okay, stance ONE." The elf raised his arms and brought them down, "Elf Cuts Off Dwarf�s Head."
"HEY!" Gimli snorted, "I�ve never heard of that one!"
"Stance TWO." The elf raised his elbows, "Elf Elbows Dwarf�s Head."
"Where is THIS?" Gandalf wrinkled his nose, flipping through the book, "That�s not Stance TWO!"
"Stance THREE." The elf raised a palm, pushed it out from him, "Elf Pushes Dwarf Fart."
"PU." Sirius rolled his eyes, with a snort.
"Stance FOUR." Legolas was on a roll, and brought the palm back, "Elf Retrieves Lavender."
"Give me a break!" Adhara moaned, "Of that KIT KAT bar!"
"Stance FIVE." The elf made a little wrist flick as he brought his hand to his face, "Elf Flicks Lavender At Ugly Dwarf."
"Right." Gimli snorted.
"Stance SIX." Legolas lifted his shoulders slightly and his forearms, "Elf Bears Great Weight to Save Dwarf."
"STANCE SEVEN!" The elf screeched, bringing everything down, "Elf Puts Down Great Weight to Crush Dwarf."
"Ouch-a-munga!" Gimli jumped to his feet, and pointed back the way they had come, "BALROG!"
"That is Stance Fifty-Three." Legolas brought an elegant hand in a diagonal chop, "Elf Beheads Balrog."
"Let�s see you do some beheading!" The dwarf pushed the elf forward (Legolas stumbled), and the elf stood almost face-to-face with a thing of shadow and flame, about a entire kilometer off. "SEE?"
"I see all too well!" Legolas frowned, "Must use Stance Fifty-Four!"
"Which is?" Gimli screamed, "HURRY!"
"Elf Runs Like The Dickens!" Legolas hollered and with the rest of the Fellowship, ran quickly across the Bridge of Khazad-dum. "See? It works!"
"Darn nab you elf!" The dwarf screamed at the top of his lungs, for he knew that the Balrog was much too fast for them all, and if they did not want to become incinerated, they would have to do something! Gimli raised his axe and screeched at the top of his lungs, "HI-YA!"
"OOOH!" Legolas was quickly at his side again, "Let�s see some Dwarf-Kung-Fu-Kick-Balrog-BUTT!"
"I�ve got a better idea." The dwarf grinned evilly, "Let�s see some Elven-Kung-Fu-Kick-Balrog-Butt!"
"Oh, you are mistaken!" A fair elven finger shoved its way at Gimli�s chest, "You evil foul thing! Elven Tai Chi is not used for violence! But for self protection! Others must strike first!" Legolas sighed, "Amen!"
"A Man?" Gimli repeated, confused, "Man-Kung-Fu-Kick-Balrog-Butt?"
"Of course not!" The elf snorted, and the finger tweaked Gimli�s nose, "If I didn�t like you so much, Gimli, son of Gloin, I would Elven-Kung-Fu-Kick YOUR butt!"
"What�s with you and kung fu?" Gimli screamed, "Why don�t you just use good old archery?"
Legolas tossed back his head and cackled loudly, "You underestimate my powers, Gimli son of Gloin! I shall use Kung Fu for I am the LORD OF THE KUNG FU!"
"Oh no." The dwarf moaned, "What have I unleashed?"
As though radio-active again, the elf jumped up and did a quick series of slashes with his fair hands, "No one can stand in the way of the Lord of the Kung Fu!" He quickly turned and stared angrily at the balrog, and pointed ahead with a fair finger, "You vile thing!" Just as suddenly, he grabbed Gimli and ran with the dwarf, following the rest of the Fellowship onto a very narrow stone bridge.
Frodo had stopped in the middle of it, and both he and Sam were huddled around a large book entitled A Guide Book to Moria, with Sam announcing triumphantly, "The Bridge of Khazad-dum! I knew it!"
"No way!" Gandalf snarled, and shooed everyone across to the opposite side, but last in line was the elf, and suddenly Legolas stopped, turned once again, to face the demon of shadow and flame about to step onto the frail stone bridge.
"You shall not pass!" The elf raised his hands, "The dark fires shall not avail you, flame of Udun! I am the Lord of the Kung Fu! Go back to the SHADOW!" Legolas sprang into the air (a good eight feet) and glared into the flaming eyes of the balrog, who roared loudly. The elf wrinkled his nose, "OH MAN YOU NEED SOME TIC TACS!"
In response, a flaming whip was drawn across the bridge and nearly caught the elf, who screeched as he could not reach the balrog without burning his pretty little hands, "You can�t do that! That�s SO CHEATING!"
Suddenly, Legolas whipped out what seemed to be a light saber from his toga, and instantly, the cavern lit up with a brilliant green slice of laser, "HA! Take THIS!" And tossed it as though a boomerang at the balrog, who glared at it. The light saber turned to dust.
Legolas blinked quickly. He was two feet away from a balrog. Shadow and flame. On a very narrow bridge. Unarmed. With only non-working Elven Kung Fu. He was going to get killed. His pretty little nose! His pretty little face! Oh no! His pretty little . . . "ME!" Legolas squeaked, face twisting in anguish.
There was only one word he could think of to sum up his entire situation before he would run. And unlike Boromir, it was not to be �Aragorn.� It was . . . "MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!"
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"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" Echoed loudly through the little stone crack in which Boromir had found himself stuck in. Yes. Mommy was a very nice cry he would scream right about now. The man wiped away a few bright tears; if he did not find his shield wax . . . oh he would not think about it! He had to find it! Oh, how he longed for his mother to take him in her arms and say, "There, there, Boromir! It�s only one tube of shield wax! You have plenty of others! Oh, don�t cry, Boromir! There, there . . ." Alas, she was gone! Forever! And ever! Darn nab it!
And there! In the darkness! A glint! Glinting as though a tube of something! Shield wax, perhaps? With one hand gripping the elven rope, he wormed through the crack, and finally, his eager fingers touched it! Alas! It was his shield wax! But so dented and scarred! Boromir stifled a loud sob, retrieving the wax and cradling it back and forth in his arms. He cooed gently, "Don�t worry Fine Gondor Shield Wax! Daddy will never let you go again! Oh, my poor wax! My poor wax! My poor wax! Oh, you fine Gondor White Tower Shine!"
A roar in the darkness! Flickering flames! Boromir quickly let go of the stupid flimsy elven rope and clambered up the side of the cavern, and found himself at the foot of some long stone bridge. Must be that stupid Bridge of Khazad-dum! And there! Ahead of him were his companions, all safely across the other side, all gawking at him as though he were stupid or something, with mouths hanging open. What was up with that?
Boromir noticed they weren�t just staring at him. Rather, the thing behind him. The man raised his head to look. Shadow and flame.