The hobbits got up quickly and ran after the ranger, who stalked out into the fairgrounds, eyeing everyone with suspicion. It was hard work keeping up with him, but they managed it for the most part, until Strider finally slowed down. He stopped in front of a small building, with a window in it. The window had a shelf and pole. Hanging on the pole were numerous Western-style outfits. The shelf held boots and hats of the same sort. The sign over the open door read ‘Westernize Your Family Photo Today!’
‘Hah!’ Strider cried, flinging back his cape. ‘The King wants to be Westernizeded!’
‘What?!?’ the four hobbits cried out in alarm. But before they could protest any more Strider had grabbed a hand from each of them and with surprising strength dragged them inside. A lonely-looking teenaged boy stood at the counter. He looked at them with drooping eyes and pushed his white-blond hair away from his forehead.
‘Hi,’ he said in a melancholy high-pitched voice. ‘My name is Jimmy. This is the shop where you can “Westernize” you family photo. Hey. Hey.’ He bent his head over some paperwork, and sighed heavily.
Strider threw his head back and laughed. ‘The King wants to do just that. Where can I find a dressing room?’
The teenager lifted his head, his pale blue eyes surveying them before he spoke. ‘In there,’ he said in the same saddening high voice as he gestured with his pen. Strider nodded, and led the hobbits into the back room. He tossed costumes at them, and shoved them into dressing rooms. When the hobbits were dressed in the smelly, dirty old costumes, they filed out into the hall to wait for Strider. The blonde-haired boy at the desk looked up with a sigh, and on sight of them he let out a shrill giggle, and dropped his gaze sadly to his paper again. Frodo adjusted his beaten-up cowboy hat, trying to make the grease stain on the brim less noticeable. Merry and Sam tried to help each other buckle up their strange-looking belts, which holstered plastic revolvers with orange tips. Pippin stood, his eyes brimming with tears as he looked at himself in the mirror. The only thing that fit him, and the Strider had the chance of giving him, was a bright red Cancan outfit, complete with white and purple frilly skirts and fishnet stockings.
‘It smells like a sweaty old man!’ Pippin wailed, throwing his hands in the air.
‘Well, umm, maybe you weren’t the only—never mind,’ Frodo said, twisting his wooden rifle around in his hands. Pippin stomped his high-heeled foot on the floor, and flopped in a cascade of frills into a plastic green chair. Soon Strider stepped out of the dressing room, tucking in the waistband of his pants. He grinned, and adjusted his tan cowboy hat. His outfit was stunning, complete with little silver stirrups that jangled at his heels and a sandy wig stuffed under his hat. He nodded at them, and tightened the belt on his jeans. The hobbits stared, gaping at the ranger, who appeared as though he had just stepped out of a horse movie.
‘Wow Strider, you look so different,’ Sam said, his eyes wide.
‘Yeah, it looks like your name should be Frank or something,’ Pippin added, applying red lipstick around his mouth. Merry nudged him, and Pippin missed, smearing it down his chin. The teenaged boy came up, his head hanging low.
‘Sir, are you ready to take your picture now?’ he asked softly. Strider nodded.
‘The King is always ready.’
The boy led them on into a curtained room, and flipped through the backdrops a minute. Then he set up stools and chairs and boxes, having the hobbits sit on them. Strider perched himself onto a stool, and leaned casually against his knee.
‘The King is waiting!’ he called boredly to the boy, who now stood readying the camera.
‘I know. Hang on. I need to get the lens just ri—‘
‘NOW!’ bellowed Pippin, who by now had grown quite uncomfortable in his outfit.
‘Okay okay!’ the sad little teenaged boy said with a whimper. He trotted around behind the camera and held up his hand. ‘On three,’ he said in his high whining voice. ‘One……two…..three….CHEESE!’
‘Cheese?’ Pippin cried, leaping off the box he’d been kneeling on. ‘Where?!?’
Merry followed Pippin as he ran out of the room.
The flash exploded, and Strider was blinded, falling back off of his stool onto the cement floor.
Sam and Frodo jumped down off the low bench and helped the ranger stand.
‘Strider, are you all right?’ Sam asked in alarm.
Strider rubbed the back of his head and blinked. He coughed, and his vision cleared. Blinking, he glanced around.
‘Where am I???’ he asked strangely, staring around the studio.
‘Oh no! He’s got amnesia!’ Frodo cried. Sam grabbed Strider’s hand.
‘Strider what is your name?’
Strider rolled his eyes. ‘Strider. And I’m fine. I don’t have am—whatever you called it. But where are Merry and Pippin? And, why am I wearing this ridiculous costume? I look like my name should be Frank or something. It doesn’t suit me at all! Hang on, let me change.’ He disappeared into a dressing room, and came out in his ranger clothes. Frodo and Sam changed as well, but Frodo insisted on keeping the cowboy hat. He said it made him look taller. Strider threw back his shoulders and strode in a stately manner out of the photo shop.
‘Hey, wait!’ the blonde teenager cried after them, his voice cracking, ‘You forgot your picture!’ He produced a black and white photograph with authentic western framing. It showed Strider sitting upon his stool, glaring at the camera while brandishing a whip in one hand. Sam and Frodo sat behind him, their faces drawn straight as they tried not to smile at the camera. Pippin and Merry were simply one big blur off in the left-hand corner. Strider waved it away.
‘Why would I want that?’ he asked as he walked out of the tent. They came into the muddy courtyard of the games pavilion. Frodo glanced around.
‘Where are they?’ Sam asked. Frodo shrugged his shoulders. Strider caught sight of two small figures darting through the crowd, and he dragged Sam and Frodo over to where Pippin and Merry were chasing a miserable-looking clown. He grabbed each one by and ear and dragged them onto a bench. He bade Sam and Frodo sit down.
‘All right then,’ the ranger said breathlessly. ‘We need to settle this. Who votes we go home now? I think we’re all tired.’
All four hobbits raised their hands. Strider nodded.
‘Wait,’ Pippin screamed. ‘I don’t want to go. I just wanted to tell you I’m hungry.’
Merry’s eyes lit up. ‘Yeah, me too. I’m hungry too.’ Soon Sam and Frodo chimed in. Strider rolled his eyes. It sounded like a chorus of hungry chicks. He immediately stalked over to the nearest food cart and ordered four candy apples. Then he came back to the still-chanting hobbits, and gave each of them one.
‘All right. Now, will you just sit there and be quiet while I call Gandalf? I need to see if he went and ordered pizza or not.’
The hobbits nodded as they bit into their apples. Strider sighed in relief and flipped open his cell phone, dialing their house number. It rang about four time before a gruff voice answered.
‘Gimli?’ Strider asked curiously.
‘Yes lad. You’d you think it was?’
‘Well, I-I didn’t know you knew how to answer the phone.’
‘Of course I do,’ Gimli answered sharply. ‘You just press this button and—‘ The phone line went dead. Strider rolled his eyes and dialed again. Gimli’s voice resounded on the other end.
‘—ider? Strider? Are you there? Stiiiiiiiiiiiideeeeeeeeeeer! Ahhhhhh!’
‘Gimli! I’m here,’ Strider shouted back. He quieted and turned away when he saw a couple pedestrians gawking at him. ‘Gimli, I’m here.’
‘Oh, Strider. There you are. Why’d you hang up?’
Strider snorted. ‘Umm, nothing really. Hey, are you guys having supper yet?’
There was a long silence.
‘Gimli?’
‘Yes?’
‘Why didn’t you answer?’
‘I did.’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
‘Ahem. I shook my head.’
‘I see. Just tell me then. Did you guys have supper?’
‘No, why?’
‘Well,’ at this, Strider lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I just spent my last ten dollars, and they’re hungry. You—I-I mean, Gandalf can order pizza.’
‘Yeah, sure thing. Hang on………’ there was a pause, and hoarse hissing. ‘Lego, why don’t you want pizza? Your teeth? I don’t see the—oh. Ouch. Why did you want to go to that dentist anyways? I said try—Oh, yeah, Strider? Yeah. Umm, Legolas doesn’t want pizza. Apparently the elf went and got five teeth pulled. I knew too much lembas was bad for a body—erm, teeth. Anyways, I’ll just have Gandalf pick up a can of cream of potato soup. And we’ll have pizza. Come home, Gandalf says.’
‘All right then. Will do. Goodbye. Oh, and, remember to hang up the phone right-side up this time.’
‘Goodbye Strider.’
There was a bang, and a click, and talking in the background. Strider hung up, and glanced over at the hobbits.
Pippin was having an in-depth discussion with Merry on the importance of mushrooms. Merry seemed to disagree somewhat, which irritated Pippin. He was gesturing wildly, swinging his half-eaten candy apple about. Suddenly his hand moved strangely, and the apple dropped off the stick, and plopped into FrodoÂ’s hair. Frodo had been sitting quietly, chewing happily on his candied apple as he watched the passers-by. At the feeling of a slimy sticky apple in his hair, he touched it, and began to cry. Sam jumped up and grabbed at the sticky red blob in FrodoÂ’s hair.
‘Oh!’ he cried out, yanking out locks of curly black hair, and wrapping his fingers into the mess. Frodo wailed harder. Strider sighed, trying to calm them. Merry looked up, and caught sight of a bright blue balloon floating away down the midway. His eyes grew big and round.
‘Balloon!’ he cried, and ran away into the crowd, too fast to be seen. Strider groaned, trying to pull the sticky mass out of the hysterical hobbit’s hair. Sam was over-helpful, until his hand were completely entangled into Frodo’s hair. Pippin sat there, frowning and muttering to himself, and whining about his lost and wasted apple.
‘I want my apple back,’ he moaned, kicking his legs against the bench. ‘It’s not fair! They made it too easy to drop your apple! I want my money back!’
‘It was my money,’ Strider contradicted over Frodo’s wails.
‘Whatever!’ Pippin replied with a sigh.
Finally Strider was able to find a Handi-Wipe, which he used to smear the goo around in FrodoÂ’s hair. The apple wouldnÂ’t budge, it was so tangled. Strider sighed.
‘Don’t worry, Frodo. We’ll get Legolas to take care of that when we get home.
‘Really?’ Frodo asked with a sniff. Strider nodded, pocketing the sticky wipe. He turned to the others.
‘Now wait a minute, where’s Merry?’ he asked, a hint of annoyance and also of weariness showing in his voice. Pippin sniffed.
‘I don’t know! He said something about a balloon. Heee’s left meeeeeeeeee!!!!’ With this, Pippin burst into tears, and he ground his little fists into his eyes.
‘Wait, a search, a search!’ Sam said ingeniously, patting the equally sniffling Frodo on the back. The other two hobbits brightened up at this.
‘Yes! Yes! A search! A search! Let’s all split up!’ they cried together. And they all ran off in different directions, disappearing into the crowd before Strider could say anything.
The ranger sighed, and without a clear notion as to where any of them had gotten to, he flung himself onto the bench wearily, and thought. People walked by him, muttering about a bunch of wild children running rampant through the park, but Strider didn’t pay any of them much mind. He was too busy thinking about where the hobbits might have gone. They were only the size of children, and were easily lost in such a big place. Just then, Merry came running past, pumping his little legs as he pursued after something, chanting ‘Balloon!’ over and over like a feeble-minded old man. With cat-like reflexes, Strider’s hand shot out and caught Merry’s hood, yanking him back.
‘Balloo–!Â’ was caught in his throat, and he sat back on the bench. ‘Strider!Â’ he the next thing he said.
‘Yes, Strider. What were you thinking, wandering of? You’ve got half of the Shire out there looking for you.’
Merry brightened, a smirking grin sliding across his face. ‘I do?’
‘Well, they’re wild and loud enough to make up for the entire Shire, but they’re missing now.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Merry, shaking his head, ‘ ‘cuz I just saw Pippin a few minutes ago.’
‘What?!? Where?’
‘He was having an old gentleman pick him up so he could look over the item of the food cart. It’s over there, if you go that way, and that way, and make a right after you jog about 6 minutes, and then when you see the giant inflatable chicken, make another left. Then you’ll see him.’
Strider jumped up, and without another word of explanation, he grabbed Merry’s hand, and ran off into the crowds of people in search of the hobbits. They—or Strider dragging Merry, who was practically almost airborne, went dashing through the crowds, dodging with a sort of hit-and-run tactics in play. Just then they passed The Ring Of Fire, a huge wheel about three stories high painted black and ringed with metallic fire paintings. It played loud heavy-metal music from speakers hidden in the gearbox, and a small train containing passengers flew around the inside of the ring, screaming and screaming. A small hobbit in a green cloak stood at the entrance to the ride, crying loudly and rubbing his little fists into his eyes.
‘Frodo!’ Strider shouted upon sight of him. Frodo look up, his blue eyes brimming with tears, and started crying louder. The heavy-metal music almost entirely drowned out his wailings, and the people behind him waiting in line were getting irritated with the little boy, and whoever mean father he must have for leaving him alone. They looked up at the sound of Strider’s voice and glared darkly at him. Strider sighed, and pushed between the people, until he finally got to the hobbit. He grabbed his sticky tear-stained hand and dragged him back down through the crowd. Frodo still wouldn’t stop crying, and between his ramblings about a ring of fire and dark things, Merry shouted,
‘Look! There’s Sam!’
Strider looked up, and, sure enough, dashing and huffing, his head bent low as he kept a steady and deliberate pace, was Sam, heading for the exit. He mustnÂ’t have realized it was the exit he was aiming for, because he completely ignored the attendants at the door.
‘Gottafindthem gottafind them,’ he muttered over and over, until it became one long word.
‘Sam!’ Strider shouted, but the hobbit was too preoccupied. With Frodo under one arm, dangling there as he cried loudly, and Merry in his other hand, Strider was at a loss. Finally, he shouted loud enough for Sam to hear him. The hobbit stopped, his pots and pans clanking wildly. He slowly turned around, to face the park entrance before him, and the wide and foreboding parking lot behind him. He shrieked, and ran back through the entrance way, and the attendants just watched him with amusement. Sam jogged up to Strider, and stood there, shaking like a leaf.
‘Sam, please don’t run off again,’ Strider pleaded with the gardener. ‘This time of the day is more dangerous. It’s when the creeps come out.’
‘Mae Govannen,’ resounded a melodious voice behind him. He whirled around to face the fair-skinned long blonde-haired elf named Legolas.

Coming up next— Chapter eight: Escaping the Carnival!