The Mines of Moria
THE MINES OF MORIA
We find ourselves here at our computers, as the Fellowship make a perilous journey over Caradhas, wishing we were watching TV instead…
Just then, Legolas felt an urge to voice his thoughts. “There is a fell voice in the air!”
Unfortunately, Pippin felt the same urge, “Eeep! It’s Britney Spears!”
“Close, but not quite!” shouted Gandalf over the wail of the wind. “My amazing wizard sense is telling me that it’s Saruman! He’s trying to bring down the mountain!” he proclaimed, while coughing up the mixture of real snow and Styrofoam that Peter had insisted they use.
“Shoot!” swore Aragorn, “That can’t be good! Better Plan: we must turn our feet in the other direction, and walk that way instead!”
But Boromir was not going to give up so easily. “Better Plan than that Ranger’s Better Plan! Let’s go through the Gap of Rohan!”
“An Even Better Plan than Boromir’s Better Than Better Plan!” cried Gimli. “If we can’t go under it, and we can’t go over it, then we have to go…”
“THROUGH IT!” bellowed everyone, and then coughed up the snow in unison.
“My thoughts exactly!” spluttered Gimli. “We shall go through Moria! What do you think of that, Gandalf?”
“Hey, I’m just in this for the fireworks! Why don’t we put this life-altering, possibly fatal decision on our naïve ringbearer? So, Frodo?” A few seconds passed as they dug Frodo out from under the snow. “Should we go through the Gap of Rohan? Or go through the deep, dark dungeons of Moria, where I face a near-death experience and you are forever crushed and wounded by the experience?”
The diminutive hobbit tapped his chin. “We can’t change this movie anymore; we’ve already lost Tom Bombadil! We shall go through the Mines of Moria!”
“So be it,” sulked Gandalf, though he tried to keep a positive mood by remembering that he got to come back with a clean robe the next time round.
“Awesomeness,” said Gimli, for the thought of meeting Balin, Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria, blah blah blah was very appealing.
“Should have stayed with Rosie Cotton,” said Merry, though under his breath, not willing to admit his affair to Mr. Gamgee who was not far in front.
“Mmmm… beetroot,” said Pippin, and everyone, including those in the audience in the cinema, ignored him.
They all got airlifted by helicopter to the location of the next scene.
“Oooh, doors!” exclaimed Pippin.
“Well done, Pippin, you’re learning!” said Merry. “So what now?”
Legolas pondered the question. “It says, ‘Speak Friend, and Enter.’ In Elvish. On an entrance to a Dwarvish mine. How quaint.”
“Argh,” growled Gimli, “To think we become friends at the end of all this. Can’t believe there’s an elf on this quest. I’m worried you might break a nail.”
The elf remained unimpressed. “Yeah…well… your mama’s so hairy that Peter wanted to cast her as King Kong!”
Ignoring the fight breaking out behind him, Gandalf was contemplating what to do; ask Dumbledore for advice on unbreakable doors, or break it down with Legolas’ head? But then Peter Jackson came up and offered some advice, “Maybe if you did the Haka in front of it, it might budge…?”
But as Gandalf stuck out his tongue at the conclusion of the ritual, he knew that this was just not going to work. It may have worked for the “All Blacks” in a good ol’ Rugby match, maybe, but not now.
Frodo stopped trying to create snow angels and came up to Gandalf with an idea. “Say, Gandalf, just a stab in the dark here, but maybe the password is the Elvish word for ‘Friend’?”
“Bullocks!” scoffed Gandalf. “What a load of poppycock! I have never heard such a stupid statement in my whole entire life!”
“Anakin Skywalker was made out of broccoli and radish,” said Pippin thoughtfully.
“Well, sometimes there are contenders,” agreed Gandalf, “but in general, that is a ridiculous idea!”
“Well,” said Frodo, hurt, “What’s your plan of action?”
PJ popped up again. “Not to worry, lads, look what I found!” He held up a set of keys. “Wonderful, eh? I found them under my bed!” He placed a key in the keyhole and turned. Sure enough, the doors swung open. “Whoopee,” said Peter, and he went to go change into a nice suit and put on some shoes for the upcoming Oscars.
All was well. The doors were open, the Fellowship was still together, Pippin hadn’t set his head on fire yet and Return of the King swept up all 11 Oscars.
“Life could only get better with the presence of Arwen,” sighed Aragorn.
“Or with root beer,” said Gimli, dreaming.
“Or if I could get some plastic surgery on… on my… no hang on, I’m perfect,” drooled Legolas, staring at himself in the nearby pond. Entranced, he leant closer and closer, and closer and closer, and closer and closer, and closer even more than before, till he was so close that he fell right in.
“NO!” yelled Merry. “Everyone, Legolas has fallen into the water!”
Everyone walked slightly quicker, pretending not to hear.
“Oh come on now, that’s not fair!” cried Legolas, resurfacing. “I have a giant Squid attached to my ankle, and you all just walk away!”
Grumbling, the others returned. There was indeed a squid-like creature holding himself tight onto the elf, and it came to the surface.
“Eeep!” cried Aragorn, brandishing his sword and waving it around manically.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” chanted Gandalf, using his staff and some old spells he had learnt in Wizard school.
The Squid had now dropped Legolas, trying to ward off the swords and the spells. “Don’t worry,” said Legolas, “I can do it! I practice three hours a day, so that when I meet a Giant Squid, I can kill it!” He brandished his bow and pulled an arrow taut across it. “You practice for the sole purpose of killing Giant Squid?” asked Boromir. Legolas ignored him. “Hasta La Vista,” he cried, and sent the arrow flying across the air, landing on the Squid’s head. It then lay there, spluttering.
“Fantastic!” cried Pippin, “Calamari!” But even as he spoke he was swept up by Boromir, gagged, and taken into the mines where the others were waiting.
“Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves!” said Gimli, fondly. “It’s only ever been flooded twice, had three locust attacks, a large fire destroying most of it and only one-hundred and twenty-six cave ins… and they call it a mine! A mine!”
Gandalf lit up his magical staff. The glow illuminated the whole area.
“Crappy little staff that is, ain’t it?” said Boromir.
“Yeah, well, it was free in a showbag,” said Gandalf. “It was either this, or a light-saber thingy.”
The weary group made their way deeper into the profound nothingness.
“Now hang on a tick,” said Gandalf, stroking his flyaway beard. He plonked himself down on a nearby boulder. “I’m lost, so we must all sit down and contemplate life.”
“Alright, I’ll go first,” said Frodo, sitting down next to Gandalf. “I wish this ring had never come to me. I wish this whole damn thing had never happened. I wish I had never dressed up as Rosie Cotton that night when Sam was drunk in the Green Dragon-”
“Nothing!” said Frodo, hurriedly. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want this stupid ring no more!”
“Yeah, well, you should have thought of that in Rivendell, huh?”
“Fine,” said Frodo, sulking, “But just so you know, there’s someone following us.”
“It’s Gollum,” explained Gandalf. “He’s been following us for days. But leave him; I’m sure he has some part to play in this yet, though for good or evil, I do not know.”
“EVIL?!” chorused the rest of the Fellowship.
“Yes, yeah… ah… um… hey, let’s flip a coin and get out of this place.”
Heads it is, and the Fellowship made their way down the left passage. Soon, they entered a large, high-ceilinged hall, full of pillars.
“Guys,” said Merry, “Where are we?”
“Oh, boy,” said Gimli, running into a nearby chamber, crouching over a tomb. “No! Balin is dead!”
“It is true,” murmured Gandalf, “It says, ‘Balin, Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria Woz Here.’ He is dead, then.”
“Do you think? Do you really think that the fact that he’s lying in a tomb that proclaims he is dead, is enough evidence to conclude that HE IS DEAD, GANDALF? HUH? HUH?” cried Gimli, obviously distraught.
Gandalf caught sight of an old, dirty book, lying in a corner. He picked it up, and slowly turned its pages.
“Listen to this, guys,” he said, “The book says, ‘Argh! Bob has attacked them, and he died! Argh! John has attacked them, and he died! Argh, Paolo has attacked…’ er, this continues on for a while,” muttered the wizard.
“Shoot,” cursed Aragorn, “That don’t sound too good.”
In the midst of this, Master Took had been playing with the head of a skeleton. “Let’s see what happens if I chuck this down the hole,” he thought. The bangs and clangs echoed through all off Moria.
“Shoot,” cursed Aragorn, “That don’t sound too good either.”
Drums echoed in the deep. Screeches could be heard from outside the chamber.
“Orcs!” shrieked Legolas.
“Wow, Legolas, I see you’re not just a pretty face,” said Gimli, rolling his eyes.
“Cave Troll!” shrieked Boromir.
“Drat,” said Gandalf.
“Shoot,” said Aragorn.
A long, long, long fight ensued. Arrows were shot. Blades were brandished. Axes were wielded. Pebbles were thrown by Merry and Pippin. Frodo desperately tried to stay alive, but this story wouldn’t be much if the ringbearer wasn’t hurt somewhere. So Mr. Jackson instructed Mr. Cave Troll to pick up a spear and thrust it into Mr. Baggins. Frodo made grotesque faces. He still didn’t win an Oscar.
Still stunned, everybody waited around for Legolas to get onto the trolls shoulders and do his killing thing.
“Hey, don’t look at me!” said Legolas, “It’s CG Legolas who does this part!”
“Oh… right,” agreed the animator, hurriedly scribbling in a Playstation-like Legolas into the scene.
Everybody cheered for CG Legolas as the cave troll fell to the floor. Aragorn rushed to Frodo’s side, expecting the worst.
“It’s okay,” said Frodo, “I’m not hurt, I’m okay.
“Damn,” wheezed the Cave Troll.
“I’ve got Mithril,” wheezed Frodo, exposing the sparkly shirt.
“Damn,” growled Gimli.
“So I can take the ring to Mordor by myself after all,” coughed Frodo.
“Damn,” whispered Sam.
“We must get out of here!” shouted Gandalf. All the Fellowship got up and ran out of the chamber.
The entered the large hall again. Orcs began swarming in, from the ceiling, the walls, and the floor, encircling the helpless Fellowship.
“Shoo!” said Pippin.
The goblins scattered, afraid, seeking refuge in the darker areas of Moria.
“Well that was easy,” said Pippin.
“No, lad,” said Gandalf, “It was something fouler that scared them.”
‘Fouler than Pippin?” piped up Merry.
“Indeed. It is a Balrog. He has probably been here for many ages, an evil, evil, evil, evil, evil creature, with evil, evil, evil, evil fire surrounding him. He is a demon, an evil demon, from the ancient world. This is definitely not something you guys should try and destroy.”
“So now what?” asked Legolas carefully.
“Well, now that I have concluded my speech, I suggest we run.”
They sprinted across the hallway. Soon, they entered a new area, a deep chasm, with the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm running across it.
“I have an idea!” said Gandalf. “We shall go across the bridge!”
“Wow, we are a smart bunch of people then, aren’t we?” said Boromir.
They ran across the bridge. The Balrog gave chase, and Gandalf turned around to face it.
“I am the Servant of the Secret Fire!” proclaimed Gandalf. “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”
“Fine,” said the Balrog, and fell into the deep chasm.
“That should do it,” said Gandalf, dusting his hands. But he spoke too soon; the Balrog pressed a button, and his whip extended to catch Gandalf’s foot, pulling him in. Gandalf hung on with a finger.
“HELP!” he cried.
“I’ll do it!” hollered Pippin. He ran over to the edge.
“Remember that time when you set my cloak on fire?” he said, crouching down.
“It was an accident, Peregrin! But this is really not the time!” said Gandalf, desperately clinging on.
“Well, this is for that time!” shouted Pippin, stepping hard on Gandalf’s hand. The wizard fell down, along with the Balrog.
“No, Pippin, bad move!” scolded Gimli.
“Sorry,” said Pippin.
“See you next movie!” called Gandalf.
THE END. Don’t worry, five-year-old children who are reading this, Gandalf does indeed come back next movie, hair-straightened, bleached, with a high-tech staff… better than ever.
THE REAL END. NO, REALLY.