‘Legolas! Ah, what are you doing here?’ Strider asked with astonishment.
Legolas twisted a strand of long blonde hair around his finger absently.
‘Oh, Gandalf sent me looking for you. He says you’re late.’
Strider snorted. ‘That’s obvious.’
Legolas stepped back and studied the bunch. Strider looked terribly worn and tired, and his face a slight purple color, like heÂ’d been drowned in grape juice. Sam stood, sweaty and hot, wiping his forehead off on his sleeves many times and he muttering something to Frodo, who plainly wasnÂ’t listening. Frodo was still hanging onto StriderÂ’s hand, bawling about something. A slimy red half-eaten candy apple was stuck and tangled in his mass of curly dark hair, and it was plain it would take some scissors and many bottles of the elfÂ’s favorite shampoo to get the smell and the gunk out. Merry stood to StriderÂ’s left, his eyes fixed on a balloon as it made its ascent into the darkening sky. Pippin was nowhere to be seen. Legolas sighed delicately.
‘Ai, this is something I shouldn’t have dragged myself into,’ he muttered to himself, and then set his face into a brightening Barbie-like smile as he looked at the haphazard bunch. ‘Well, I suppose we’d need to find Pippin then,’ he said in his light manner. Strider sighed heavily, and he sounded more like a dying train.
‘I’ve looked everywhere for the munchkin. I can’t find him.’
‘Apparently you haven’t looked hard enough, Legolas said, taking a quick scan of the crowd. He spotted a small figure hanging onto the countertop of a turkey leg stand about half a mile away. ‘He’s right there.’
‘Where?’ the others asked incredulously. The elf snorted.
‘There!’ He pointed one long and well manicured finger in Pippin’s direction.
‘I still don’t see him,’ said Frodo glumly, who had finally stopped crying, and his sobs had reduced to shuddery sniffles. Strider shook his head.
‘Me neither.’
‘Ach! Wait here,’ Legolas instructed them, and ran of, sprinting through the crowds like a deer.
‘Showoff,’ Merry called after him, and dug his heel into the muddy grass. Legolas returned with Pippin who was staring at Legolas like he was an evil villain sent by Sauron himself.
‘Here he is,’ Legolas said, depositing Pippin before Strider’s feet. Pippin looked up at the ranger.
‘That monster dragged me away from a perfectly delicious turkey leg!’ the hobbit cried in miniature rage.
‘Did I?’ Legolas retorted with a hurt tone. He folded his arms and turned away from the wrathful menace that was Pippin. Strider sighed.
‘Whatever. We’re all together now. Let’s go home.’
‘I’m driving the Jaguar, who wants to ride with me?’ Legolas asked, jingling his color-coordinated keys in his hand. Several hands raised, but Strider laughed.
‘Nonsense, Lego. They’ll mess up the interior. There’s enough rooms for all of us in the station wagon anyways.’ All the hobbits moaned, but Legolas smirked.
‘I knew that,’ he replied curtly, and headed towards the exit. He trotted up to the attendants, and handed them his used ticket stub. The attendant looked at it, handed it back to him, and waved to the pretty elf as he walked off into the parking lot. Strider walked up, and his shoulder sagged heavily.
‘May I see your confirmation pass?’ the man with the orange mustache and black spiky hair asked. Strider nodded tiredly, reaching into his pocket. He felt around for the little slips of paper, but they weren’t there. He dug through all his pockets, even popping open Water Tamer to see if they had fallen within its majestic folds. Nothing. We groaned, slapping his hand against his forehead.
‘Hey, did one of you guys have the tickets?’
All four hobbits shook their heads. Suddenly Pippin piped up.
‘Umm, maybe when you were The King you dropped them.’
‘The King?’ Strider asked in annoyance.
‘Yes, The King,’ Pippin answered back, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘And I quote, “That’s the KING to you” and, “Hmm, the King thinks this is all right. I say yes, you may do as I command.”.’ Strider rubbed his stubbly chin.
‘I never said that.’
‘Yes you—‘ began Merry, but a sharp and withering look from Strider held his tongue.
‘Hmm, I think you might have left the ticket stubs in your Western pants, Strider,’ Merry suggested helpfully. Strider shrugged.
‘Perhaps. But they have to let us out anyways. The park is closing.’
Just as the ranger said this, the lights of the rides behind him slowly began simultaneously clicking off.
‘Ooooh noooo!’ Frodo wailed, clutching Sam’s sleeve.
‘What’s wrong?’ Merry asked with a slight frown at the now pitiful-looking hobbit, who was muttering to himself and whispering in the darkening gloom.
‘Oh, he just has a problem with the dark,’ Sam sighed, and petted Frodo’s head. Strider looked up at the ticket man.
‘Umm, sir. I don’t seem to have my ticket with me. But the park is closing, and must go.’
The man cleared his throat. ‘I see. And how am I supposed to believe you didn’t sneak into the park for free.’
Strider nodded. ‘You actually think I could sneak in with this circus?’ he asked, waving his hand over the hobbits. They looked up at the orange-haired man innocently. The man frowned, which made Frodo start crying. The man groaned.
‘Still sir, I need to see confirmation you didn’t sneak in.’
Strider raised his hands above his head sorrowfully. ‘I have none! This is it. I am here, and I am broke. Obviously I must have used that money for something!’
‘For pizza!Â’ Pippin cried up at them. ‘And snacks, and games and lunch, and that one thing where you throw the other thing into the thing, and it goes around going ‘Whooooooo!Â’ with lots of flashy things, and more lunch—Strider IÂ’m hungry for lunch.Â’
‘It’s dinner time,’ Strider mumbled through gritted teeth.
‘So? I want lunch.’
‘Me too!’ said Sam. Frodo and Merry nodded their heads excitedly, and all four grabbed hands and danced circles around the scruffy ranger, chanting songs about lunch. Strider rolled his eyes.
‘Sir, I’m sorry, but I cannot find my ticket stub.’
‘And so I must decide you snuck in, which means you’re stealing. And since you have no other evidence, I must presume you guilty. Which means I have to arrest you for theft. Which means you must put your hands in the air. Which means I can get out my handcuffs and—‘
‘I understand it perfectly!’ Strider shouted angrily, stomping his foot. It landed on one of the hobbits toes, Strider never did find out which one, but he stumbled and tripped into the others, and they all landed in a heap in the mud, crying loudly.
‘Sir,’ the orange-haired man said as he cuffed Strider’s hands together, ‘I must also incite you for threatening me and injuring and abusing four minors.’
‘What minors?’ Strider asked incredulously.
‘Those poor little boys you stomped on,’ the man said, nodding to the crying hobbits in a heap around Strider’s ankles.
‘But one of them’s over 50!’ Strider said angrily.
‘Riiight,’ said the man. ‘And I’m the Queen of England.’
‘You are?’ Pippin asked, forgetting the matter of crying altogether.

Later Strider sat on a cold metal bench behind a set of bars. The hobbits sat the cell in a playpen. Pippin had found a tin cup somewhere and was beating against the screen on the playpen with it, singing an off-key song about bath water. Strider groaned and laid his grimy hands over his ears. A man with a blue uniform and a set of keys jingling on his belt stalked into the office. He eyed Strider and the hobbits in the playpen next to him.
‘What are you in for?’ he asked.
‘They think I snuck in,’ Strider groaned through his hands, not bothering to look up.
‘You probably did,’ the man said with a laugh, biting into a powdered sugar doughnut.
‘That’s not funny,’ Strider grumbled.
‘Hey, you want to get out of here or what?’ the man asked grumpily.
‘Or what,’ Pippin answered.
‘Pippin,’ Merry hissed, clapping his hand over his cousin’s mouth.
The man walked over to Strider, leaning against the bars. ‘You got one phone call. Wanna use it now?’
‘Sure, whatever,’ Strider grumped, and stood up, running his fingers through his greasy hair.
‘Whoa,’ the man said, stepping back. ‘You look terrible. How long have you been in here?’
‘An hour,’ Strider replied calmly as he waited for the man to unlock the cell door. As he walked out into the hall past the hobbits, Pippin bounded up.
‘Let me out too! I have my rights! I need to make a phone call! I have to go to the bathroom! You can’t arrest me!’
‘Kid,’ the man said through a mouthful of doughnut, ‘If you’re good, your daddy will get to make his phone call, and you can get out. Here’s a lollipop.’
‘My daddy?’ Pippin asked incredulously. ‘What?’
But the man was already gone with Strider down the hall to the telephone.
Strider picked up the payphone and dug around in his pockets. He groaned.
‘I’m broke. Do you have a quarter?’
The officer grudgingly dug around in his pocket and found some change. Strider fed the coins into the slot and dialed home. Legolas has probably turned his cell phone off. The elf had once declared his hearing was so good he could hear it ringing, even if it was turned off. But that wasnÂ’t true, as everyone found out when they tried to call it.
Soon someone picked up on the other end.
‘Hello?’ came Gimli’s scratchy voice.
‘Gimli! Gimli?!?! Why are you answering the phone?!? I thought Gandalf told you not to.’
‘Because,’ Gimli said with a sigh, ‘Gandalf’s in the shower—‘
‘Like I needed to know that,’ Strider mumbled in disgust.
‘And Lego went off to fetch someone from some carnival, and Boromir went off to get the pizza.’
‘I see,’ Strider said. ‘Well, you see, I need your help. I’m in jail.’
‘What?!?!’ Gimli shouted in the phone. ‘Laddie! What are you doing there? How can I help?’
‘Well, see, I need you to come down here and get me out. The directions to get here are—‘
‘Get you out? Sure thing! I’ll be right over!’
Then the phone went dead as Gimli hung up. Strider stared at the receiver in his hand.
‘He doesn’t know how to get here,’ he grumbled as he hung it back up. He looked bemoaningly at the officer who stood there engrossed in a copy of Cops Illustrated. ‘Can I make another call? Gimli doesn’t know how to use the pho—‘
‘No, you can’t,’ the man with the badge interrupted flatly. He unhooked his keys from his belt. ‘All right big guy, let’s get you back in the cell.’
When Strider returned to the metal bench in the little room with bars on the front, Pippin had all the hobbits joined in a song about pita pockets filled with cheese. Strider groaned. He now had a headache. The man with the keys left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Strider hung his head and groaned, thinking hard. After a time he noticed it was quiet. Something was wrong. He looked up to see the hobbits had escaped the playpen, and were trying to build a pyramid of telephone books up to the keyhole on the door to StriderÂ’s cell.
‘Hang on Strider,’ Sam hissed encouragingly as Merry sat on his shoulders, fiddling with the lock. ‘We’re gonna bust you out of here!’
‘I want to help!’ Frodo cried suddenly. He clambered up on top of Pippin’s shoulders and stared hard at the lock while Merry poked at it. He looked at Frodo.
‘We could get it open, if we had a—‘
‘A hairpin?’ Frodo asked.
‘Yeah, one of those things. You got one?’
‘Uh huh,’ Frodo said, and handed Merry a long metal bobby pin. Merry fitted it into the lock, and after looking at it a moment, he frowned.
‘Uh, Frodo? Why did you have a hair pin on you?’
‘Heh, yeah, why did I have a hairpin on me? Uh, yeah, see, I had it in my pocket, because….’
‘Because he doesn’t like his hair being all jumbled up,’ Sam finished bluntly underneath Merry.
‘Sam! You weren’t supposed to tell!’ Frodo hissed angrily, and kicked at Sam. Sam yelped and fell backwards, and poor Merry screamed as he went bodily downward. Frodo crossed his arms and sniffed haughtily at Sam. ‘You deserved that,’ he said.
Sam eyed Frodo angrily. ‘Well then, you deserve this!’ he cried, and lunged at Frodo. Only Frodo sat on Pippin’s shoulders, and since Pippin was especially tall, Sam couldn’t reach Frodo. He ended up tackling Pippin instead, he shouted at Sam and kicked him in the shins. Soon it was an all-out brawl on the floor amongst the hobbits, and Strider still sat on his metal bench with his head in his hands, thinking on a way to get out.
After a long time; Strider couldn’t tell how long, the front door rattled again. It shook and shuddered, and it sounded as if something—or someone, was flinging themselves bodily against the door. The Hobbits in their playpen froze in fear, and clung to each other, whimpering. Strider looked up in alarm, and reached at his hilt for his sword, finding only the umbrella, which the police had let him keep, warranting it wasn’t too deadly. He popped it out and wielded it before him.
‘Look Mr. Frodo,’ Sam sniffed, ‘Strider’s gonna protect us! It’ll be all right.’
The door burst open in a shatter of splinters, and a heavily breathing figure stumbled into the room.

Coming up next-—Chapter Nine: The Great Breakout!

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