“Don’t you let go, Mr. Frodo!”
“REACH!”
As Frodo reached for Sam’s outstretched arm, they both heard a ‘RIP’, and saw Frodo’s pants falling down into the boiling pool of fire below.
“First my finger; now my pants, what next? You can’t rely on belts these days, can you?” Frodo yelled, as the fire was elevating toward them.
“My arms are killing me! REACH!”
Frodo, pant-less and finger-less, grabbed Sam’s hand, and was hoisted onto the cliff. They ran out of the doorway, but not without Frodo’s finger! He had faint hopes of sewing it back on at the Houses of Healing back in Gondor.
They leaped onto a high boulder, just missing the boiling lava pursuing them quickly. “It’s gone; it’s done!” Frodo cried.
“Yes, Mr. Frodo, it’s finished. Are you all right?” said Sam, noticing Frodo’s tears.
“It’s just…I mean…” stammered Frodo.
“I know…I know Mr. Frodo. After all we’ve been through.”
“No…” Interrupted the x-ring bearer, “it’s…my pants! They’re gone! And they were my favorite pair.”
“Oh bother! You’ll get over it Mr. Frodo!”
The next thing the Hobbits knew, they were being picked up by the weirdest looking birds they’ve ever seen! And an old man as their rider.
“Mr. Frodo…Mr. Frodo.” Sam said as his words woke the sleeping Frodo. “Are those eagles? Like the one’s Bilbo mentioned in his stories? And…is that Gandalf, or some sidekick of Sauron’s?”
“Sam…Sauron is destroyed, remember? The stupid ring, and the worthless quest?”
“Yes, yes, Frodo. My, aren’t you in a nasty mood. Almost Gollum like. Or Stinker, or whatever he was called. Uggh…let’s not mention him.”
But Frodo didn’t hear Sam. He had fallen fast asleep again, only to wake up to an unfamiliar site.