As they waited for night to fall they rested, moving to the bottom of
the hollow to avoid the light of the setting sun.  The three hobbits
remained silent as evening deepened and lights began to spring on in
the dorms and all-night cafes.  As darkness grew in the hollow, Sam
got out the last of Spiegel's groceries and began making dinner. 
"I've got no POTS to fix anything fancy," he said pointedly, "but to
celebrate your return, sir, I'll add a little something special to our
meal."  Soon, he was putting the finishing touches on three large ham
and cheese sandwiches.
  Just at that moment, Spiegel gave a yelp and leapt away from Sam with
her eyes fixed on the lip of the hollow above him.  A dark form could
be seen there, looming against the emerging stars.  Frodo felt a queer
and curiously pleasant sense of deja vu at the sight, and he lay back
on the ground expectantly.  Sam, who was closer, could make out a man
in oddly archaic robes and holding some dark object in his hands.  In
a trembling voice he asked, "Who's there?"
  The man took a step forward, and then began to strum on the guitar he
held and sing in a melancholy voice:

   I am Feanor's boy, and my story's dark and cold,
   I have squandered my resistance,
   For a pocket full of marbles such are Silmarils
   Made in the West.
   Morgoth stole them from my father
   And hacked up Grandpa's breast.
   Mmmm-mm-mmmmm...

   When I left my home to go cross the sea,
   I was no more than a boy
   in a company of warriors.
   Standing by my father I an awful oath declared.
   We needed boats,
   so we asked our shoreland cousins if they'd help but they said no;
   it was then we knew that they would have to go.

  At this point, the man seemed to lose control of himself.  He whipped
out a sword and began stabbing and slashing in every direction as if
fighting an imagined horde of foes in a berserk rage, singing:

   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die-die,
   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die die die-die-die-die die! 

  Regaining control, the singer began to strum his guitar again and
continued:

   As the war went on for ages, Beren took a Silmaril home,
   to win Thingol's daughter.
   When they died their son refused to give us back the jewel.
   We marched in there
   Killing men and helpless children 'cause their lord was so unfair.
   Die-die die-die die, die die die die...

  Although he twitched a few times as he finished the verse, the
musician managed to simply play on without singing for a few minutes,
gazing sadly off into space.  Suddenly, the rage came upon him again,
and he once again began leaping to and fro with his sword, to the
refrain:

   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die-die,
   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die die die-die-die-die die! 

Again the madness passed, and he went on:

   Now I'm chasing down these refugees and wishing for the stone:
   Father's stone.
   But the poor exiles don't do a thing but bleed on me...
   Speeding free... father's stone.

   In the clearing stands a jewel-box and two fighters holding blades
   And we slay them for the treasures
   That cost every love and life we had
   but burned us 'til we cried out
   In our anger and our shame,
   "I am leaving, too much grieving," but the minstrel still remains.
   Mmmm-mm-mmmmm...

   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die-die,
   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die die 
   Die-die-die-die die!  Die die-die die die die-die,
   Die die-die!  ...

  This final chorus involved the most intense leaping and slashing
yet, and rather than calming down the singer seemed to get more and
more vicious and excited as he sang on.  And as Frodo, Sam, and
Spiegel watched, he stepped too far, toppled, wavered for a moment
on the brink of the hill, and with a yell came tumbling down straight
into the middle of Sam's cooking supplies.  All was suddenly silent.
  After a few moments, a groan came from the heap at the bottom of the
hill.  Sam, who had just gathered up his cooking gear and had begun to
creep forward to retrieve the sandwiches, leapt back to safety with
Frodo, while Spiegel cowered among the packs across the hollow.  As
the figure rose, Sam saw that it was not a man at all but an Elf, with
dark hair and a hungry look in his eye.
  "Wow!  Sandwiches!" exclaimed the Elf, and before they could
say another word he had started to wolf down the nearest one.  "You have
no idea how good this tastes," he said a few minutes later.  "How did
you come by this Elvish mustard so near the gates of Mordor?"
  Sam blushed and hung his head, but he found that he could not lie
while he was held by the singer's searching gaze.  "I stole a bit
before we left Lorien, begging your pardon, sir.  I meant no harm, on
my honor!  I just have no use for trees."
  The singer laughed.  "Oh, don't worry about it.  Nobody should
keep Elvish mustard from a true Sandwich Artist like yourself.  Did you
know that the secret of its making was taught to the Elves by Lavanna
herself?  It's made from the seeds of special mustard plants brought
out of the West from the Blessed Realm.  I should tell you, though,
that never before have strangers tasted the condiments of our own
people.  Come to think of it, you still haven't, have you?"
  Grinning he reached over and began to eat the second sandwich while
the hobbits looked on with increasing longing.  "You know what would
go really well with this?" asked the singer.  "A good margarita,
that's what."
  Frodo's eyes suddenly brightened.  "Margarita?  Do you know
El Rond, then?  Do you come from Rivendell?"  Memories of the fair
Elf-maidens in Rivendell began to surface in Frodo's mind, and he somehow
found himself forgetting the deep attraction for Sam that had been growing
on him for the past few weeks.  Now those Elf-maidens, they were good
company indeed... what could have made him forget the joy that he had
felt in the arms of young Findu-lass?  But Frodo turned his attention
back to the minstrel as he replied.
  "El Rond?  Rivendell?  Those names certainly don't sound familiar." 
The Elf seemed to be lost in some fair memory for a time, and then he
explained, "No, margaritas are an old family recipe, invented by my
father in the wild days of his youth.  We passed it on secretly,
father to son, but my family has dwindled over time: we never had much
of an opportunity to raise children.  I myself only taught the recipe
to my foster son Othar, but he and I lost touch quite some time ago."
  Sam felt a tug at his memory at that, but he was more interested in
other things.  "But who are you?" he asked.
  The Elf once again began to sing:

   I am Feanor's boy, and my story's dark and cold...

  "Ach, no!" cried Spiegel.  "Please, spare Spiegel's ears!  Already
we puts up with hour after miserable hour of recording and re-recording
and hearing that same music over and over.  If we has to listen to
that song again, divorce you we will!"
  Everyone else turned to stare confusedly at Spiegel.  "What do you
mean, 'divorce you'?" asked Frodo.
  "Sorry," replied Spiegel.  "I don't know what came over me.  Spiegel
felt like she was speaking the words of a distant voice from another
world.  Just don't sing song again and it might go away."
  Sam turned back to the singer.  "Let me put this another way: what is
your name?"
  "Oh, my name is Maglor," he answered.
  "Maglor!" exclaimed Frodo.  "Feenamint's son Maglor?  But what
were all those strange names in your song?"
  "Strange names?  Ah, right, you're used to hearing the Gnomish
names.  You see, when my people left the Blessed Realm, we had a bit
of a falling out.  Some of us took boats straight across the sea,
while the rest decided to walk all the way back to Middle-earth.  They
had to hike all the way north to the great mountain Stardock to get
around the sea, of course, and what's more they had to climb straight
over her.  All the way up her bare, wind-scoured west wall, across the
Tresses, down the Ladder, and across to Obelisk Polaris they went, and
then they somehow contrived to lower the whole troop down its sheer
sides.  With so many women and children along, you can imagine that
their losses were heavy indeed."
  Sam seemed puzzled.  "If it was so dangerous, and they had women and
children with them, then it don't make much sense for them not to take
the boats, and you can't deny it."
  Maglor seemed distinctly uncomfortable, and was quite relieved when
Frodo broke in to repeat his question.  "But what about the names? 
And what do you mean by Gnomish?"
  "Oh, didn't you know?  Whole cities of Ice Gnomes live up there, in
the caves of Stardock.  The Elves who crossed her became great friends
of the Gnomes, and even adopted parts of their language into their
own.  Some of the Elves even decided to stay there with them and
decorate their mountaintop homes with the gems and treasures they had
brought from the West.  At any rate, once the rest of us got back
together here in Middle-earth, their language caught on, and true
Proto-Elvish is rarely heard anymore."  With that, Maglor grabbed the
last of the sandwiches and began munching on it contentedly.

  The last light of day had long since vanished and the moon was sinking
as Sam, Frodo, and Spiegel began to gather the bags for the next stage
of their journey.  Maglor lay on the other side of the hollow, gazing
up at the stars and humming to himself.  Sam wasn't at all sure how
much to trust him after the madness of his song, but he hoped that
soon they would be safely away: the Elf hadn't stirred since he
finished the last of the sandwiches well over an hour before.
  To Sam's dismay, however, the Elf soon sat up and took note of their
preparations.  "Frodo," he called, "what is the relic of power that
you bear?  It seems to have a deep hold on you."
  Frodo spun round to face Maglor in surprise.  "What do you know of
the ri-, er, relic?"
  "Little is hidden from these eyes, Frodo.  Those who have lived in the
Blessed Realm lead a strange dual life, living at once in the
Neighborhood of the Seen and the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. 
Whatever it is that you carry, it casts a great shadow in the unseen
land.  I myself carried a thing of Power for a time, and I know what
its effects can be.  Does your burden toy with you as mine toyed with
me?"
  "What do you mean, toy with me?" asked Frodo.  "Did you, too, begin
to see your own burden in your dreams as an ever growing wheel of fire,
inescapably engulfing all other thoughts and memories until it alone
occupied your thought?"
  "No, can't help you there," replied Maglor, "but it sure played
havoc with my sex life.  One minute I found myself longing for the
company of women, the next for men, and back again without even a
moment's warning.   It was interesting for a while, but eventually the
thing just got out of control.  It sometimes went for years at a time
filling me with burning desire but never allowing me to follow
through.  I finally got rid of my treasure after it drove me to spend
a desperate but fruitless week snorkeling and looking for amiable
bluefish."
  "You know," mused Frodo, "that sounds disturbingly familiar."  As
Sam and Spiegel stared at him, he hurriedly added, "all but the fish,
of course," and concentrated intently on his shoelaces.
  "You really ought to get rid of the thing," Maglor suggested.  "My
brother had good luck dumping his in a pit of molten rock.  Well, not
such good luck, actually, but at least it didn't bother him anymore. 
I hear there's a good sized volcano over in Gorgoroth that might do
the trick.  Incidentally, where are we going?"
  Inwardly, Sam groaned, and he glanced nervously over at Spiegel to
see if she had made the connection.  It was bad enough that this fool
of an Elf was inviting himself into their group, but if he managed to
clue Spiegel in to the danger to her Precious there would be real
trouble.  As she began to speak, he reached for his sword, but in
relief he realized that she was still miraculously oblivious to their
plans.
  "Master plans to enter Mordor," Spiegel said.  "We takes him down
along mountains, walks many days, gets good exercise.  Take secret
shortcut into Black Land, yes, so master isn't taken straight to Him."
  "That sounds like quite a hike.  Why not just go through the dorms?"
Maglor asked.  "Security is remarkably lax.  I should know: I used to
be a music professor here.  In fact, if I'm not mistaken, some of
these nearer corridors lead straight from the coffee shops and jazz
clubs here to Durthang House on the far side of the mountains.  It
shouldn't be a bad trip at all, and you might even be able to pinch
yourselves some bicycles once you get to the other side."  The hobbits
all saw the sense in this, and soon they finished packing their bags
and crept toward the darkness of Mordor.

  It was deepest midnight by the time they reached the mouth of the
corridor that Maglor said would lead them to Durthang House, but their
care had paid off, for they had successfully avoided all of the
security orcs on the way.  Sam eagerly ran towards the opening, but
just as he was about to pass into it he felt a shock: as if he had run
into some invisible wall.  They all looked about, and there within the
shadow of the doorway they saw the Two Watchers.
  They were terrible figures standing on either side of the path, filled
with hidden menace.  Each of their faces had a terrible, vulture-like
beak, and their outstretched clawlike hands seemed to tear up at the
very sky, while their feet ended in grasping talons.  The things
seemed to be carved out of huge blocks of pale white stone, but where
each of the them seemed to hold in its left foot the body of a
suffering enemy the talons were painted red as freshly spilled blood. 
Red as blood, too, was a single claw on the right hand of each beast,
as if they had plunged their razor sharp thumbs into their foes in
some dark ritual of torture, and those claws were held just beyond the
Watchers' noses while their forked outstretched tongues stretched to
catch the dripping blood.  The lethal right foot of each monster
stretched its talons toward the open door as if to ward off all who
dared approach their domain, and the few lights from outside glinted
off of crowns set of their brows that appeared to be made of the
gilded bones of human fingers.  For all that they were made of stone,
the monsters seemed aware: some dreadful spirit of evil vigilance
stared out through their cruel eyes, which were fixed with fearsome
intensity upon their bloody claws.  As if to show that they cared
nothing for their own pain, each creature was piercing its own left
thumb with the smallest, needle-sharp claw of its opposing hand, and
slashes along their chests showed where they had cut themselves for
the sheer joy that they found in agony.  The Watchers' dark stony
capes seemed to meld into the walls, so that to enter the hallway at
all seemed to place one within that awful embrace, giving up without
hope to their devouring hatred of all living things.
  Frodo and Sam stared at the monstrous guardians of the passage with
horror, and even Maglor seemed taken aback by their foul visage and by
the strange barrier that had prevented Sam from penetrating beyond
them into the corridor.  At that moment, they heard Spiegel cry out
from beyond the statue on the left.
  "Aha!  Here's the latch!" she said, and she reappeared as she pulled
open the sliding glass door that Sam had struck like an unwary bird. 
Looking back at them, she called out, "You guys coming?"

  They all moved forward to pass through the door, when to their horror
they found that something was waiting for them on the other side:
standing before them was a short, geriatric fellow with big eyes, a
complexion lighter than the pale Watchers', and a half eaten cave fish
in his hand.  "Ach, thanks, saddam.  We couldn't find tricksy
handles in the dark, no, saddam.  Gulible will be on his way... say,
now, saddam, what a tasty little dish she is, yes, and just my size. 
Not nassty Elvish wench, no, saddam."  Having finally noticed the
attractive form of his liberator, Gulible began to paw at Spiegel and
fluff her hair.  Finally, he wrapped her in a great hug, and held
tightly while she began to squirm with discomfort, not knowing what
would make the creature stop invading her personal space.
  Frodo and Sam stared at Spiegel and Gulible in complete confusion,
trying to sort out who was who.  Finally, Sam could take it no more. 
"Here, now, leave Spiegel alone," he said, and pulled her free of
Gulible's embrace.  "Who are you, anyway?"
  "You knows who we is, yess, saddam.  Set nasty trips and traps
for us, they did, as we takes little sightseeing vacation along river. 
Never lets us get close enough to see pretty Elf-maidens bathing, no. 
And when we finally gets a chance to talk to false tricksy Elf
strumpet again, does she say, 'Sorry, Gulible'?  No, she just says,
'Get Orcs'.  Well, we may be slow, saddam, but we knows when enough
is enough.  We says, 'No more Elfses', and comes here to get fisssh. 
But now we sees pretty hobbit lass, yesss, and maybe hobbit girls
aren't so tricksy, saddam."  Sam pushed him away before he could
begin to fluff Spiegel's hair again.
  Spiegel pulled away from Gulible's reaching hands, but it was clear
that she was flattered.  "We've got the same nickname, huh?"
  Frodo now turned to Spiegel, demanding, "But then who are you?"
  "I'm Spiegel, same as I've always been.  What do you mean, 'who are
you'?"
  "Then, you didn't bear my burden?  You aren't tied to me by a bond of
fate and foreshadowing stretching across hundreds of years?  Are you
telling me that we've been traveling with some random stranger we me
along the way, someone without any hidden identity that will later
prove useful or a deep symbolic reflection of my own potential doom?"
  "'Fraid so," replied Spiegel.  "What kind of fairy-tale world do
you think we live in, anyway?"
  Sam couldn't bear the host of contradictions that seemed to be
springing up in every direction.  "But what about the Ring, your
Precious?  You told us all about that, and you even asked master to
give it back!"
  "My Precious!" cried Gulible.  "Yes, yesss, that's what we needs!  If
the Baggins gives back the Precious, she won't shy away, saddam. 
Give it back, give it back to us!"  He ran over and began to paw at
Frodo's chest, until Frodo aimed a kick at him and Gulible backed
away.
  "He's got your Precious, too?" Spiegel asked Gulible with growing
ire.  Turning back to Frodo, she went on, "And what about that old
ring?  I told you, it didn't fit, so I threw it out."
  Frodo felt dizzy, and leaned back against the nearest of the Two
Watchers.  Its cold stone surface pressed against his back.  "Just
what is your Precious, Spiegel?" he asked.
  "You know perfectly well what it is, you jerk.  The pretty little
dress that my aunt May gave me, and that you took away just because
my dad was a bit late with a payment to old Sharkey."
  "So when you muttered 'saddam'..."
  "Sorry, I couldn't quite understand you there," said Spiegel, looking
genuinely confused.  "It sounds like you've got something caught in
your throat."  Frodo slouched in defeat.
  "I hate to interrupt," said Maglor, entering the conversation for the
first time, "but if we want to get through to Durthang House before
the students start stirring about in the morning we should really get
going."  The whole group shrugged, and the five of them marched
together into the hallway.

  The tunnel seemed to have no end.  All they knew was that it was going
uphill pretty steadily and keeping in the same direction in spite of a
twist and a turn or two.  There were hallways leading off to the side
every now and then, as they knew by the glimmer of peepholes in the
doors and by the sounds of distant late-night student parties.  Maglor
seemed sure of his way, so the hobbits took little notice of these
side passages, except to hurry past for fear that they would have to
explain themselves to one of the few campus security orcs who
periodically got up enough energy to wander through the halls.  On and
on they went, and up and up; and still they heard no sound of anything
except the occasional second-rate strumming of would-be musicians or
their popular idols.  Maglor seemed dismayed by this at first, till it
became too frequent to bother about.  Sam could not tell how long they
kept on like that, quickly walking on, on, on until they were more
than weary.
  Suddenly without any warning they heard a "meow" from just a few yards
in front of them, and a small kitten came around a corner and sat down
in their path.  The group stopped, and they all held their breath with
apprehension, when they heard a voice from down the adjoining hallway. 
It called out, "What have you found, Shiro?"
  Around the corner came a young man wearing jeans and a rumpled T-
shirt.  As soon as he saw Maglor and the hobbits, he gave an evil
laugh.  "I haven't seen that many shocked and frightened faces since
Nickerson gave that pop quiz last fall.  Trespassing, I guess: you
certainly don't look like students."  As Maglor reached for his blade,
the student reached into his own pocket and pulled out a whistle. 
"I'll make you a deal," he went on.  "If you follow me back to my room
and do as I say, I won't blow this emergency whistle."  Seeing that
they had no choice, the company obeyed.
  After a short walk, they were ushered into a small but brightly lit
dorm room.  The first thing that hit Sam's senses was the smell: at
least a dozen litter boxes were scattered about the floor, and all of
them seemed desperately in need of attention.  Cats lounged all over
the room, some of them cute and harmless like Shiro but others nasty
and brutish as they come.  As Sam took in his new surroundings, their
captor locked the door behind them.
  "Welcome to the humble abode of Tevildo Nobunaga," he said.  "I'm
going to sleep, but your night is just beginning.  If you don't want
me to turn you over to the orcs, you'll have to clean out those litter
boxes completely before I wake up, and be quiet about it!  Just to
make sure you don't try to sneak out during the night, I'm going to
have Miaowara Tomokato here guard the door."  At those words, a large
and graceful cat crossed the room and sat blocking the door, but
despite its relaxed appearance Sam could tell that it was a highly
trained fighter: it would be impossible to slip by without a fight. 
  Tevildo climbed into his bed and was soon breathing deeply as he
slept.  Meanwhile, Maglor and the hobbits began the loathsome task
that they had been set.  The work went slowly, and by the time an hour
had passed they had only finished cleaning the fourth box.  The cat
guarding the door had fallen into a doze as well, but the twitching of
his whiskers showed that he slept lightly.
  This was enough for Maglor, however.  He motioned the others to draw
close, and shared his plan.  "I have with me an ancient Elvish salve
that carries a potent enchantment of sleep and forgetfulness.  It
takes no more than a touch for it to take effect, so as soon as the
guard is asleep we must flee immediately, before any of the other cats
recognize what we're doing and alert their master."
  With that, he crept toward Miaowara and drew a small box of Elvish
wood out of his robes.  As he removed the lid, Sam glimpsed a 'G' rune
etched in its top, and a terrible fear sprang into his mind.  In a
desperate whisper Sam warned, "Don't put mustard on the cat!"
  Tevildo groaned and rolled over in his sleep.  Maglor, who had paused
and half turned at the sound of Sam's whisper, snapped around to look
at their captor, and in that motion a large dollop of fine Elvish
mustard fell from the box and landed with a splat on the head of
Miaowara Tomokato.
  With a burst of sudden fury, the warrior cat was awake and lashing out
at Maglor with all his strength.  Before the Elf could even draw his
sword, Tomokato had slashed into both of his legs with razor sharp
claws while giving a loud meowing battle scream.  As Maglor leapt back
to defend himself, Tevildo sat straight up in bed and gave a great
blow on his whistle, summoning campus security.
  Swift escape was now their only hope, and Frodo was able to lead the
hobbits around the battle to the door.  As Maglor and the warrior cat
circled each other, trading feints and testing thrusts in search of
weakness, Spiegel managed to open the lock and throw open the door. 
The distant stomp of running orcs could be heard down the hall.  The
hobbits desperately waited for Maglor to break free of his battle so
they could flee.  Precious moments passed, and the orcs' approach
became ever louder.
  Suddenly, Tevildo's eyes widened as he stared past the combat to the
open door.  "The dorm no-pet policy!" he gasped.  "Out!  Out, all of
you, this instant!  Miaowara, fall back!"  Before they knew what was
happening, Maglor and the hobbits found themselves shoved out into the
hallway as the door slammed shut and locked behind them.  Tevildo's
light went out, and the only sounds to be heard were the grunts of the
security orcs just around the corner.
  Gulible was the first to turn and run, and the rest followed close on
his heels.  However clumsy he might have been on the riverside, he
proved to have some skill in evasion, for soon the noise of the
pursuing orcs grew distant and finally vanished.  Once they were
convinced that they had outrun their hunters, the companions stopped
in a dark hallway to catch their breath and plan their next move.
  Still gasping, Sam panted, "Must have... switched... boxes... when
you... fell."  Maglor nodded, and sat down to tend to his injured
legs.  After a few minutes, Frodo began to take control of the
situation. 
  "Good work, Gulible," said Frodo.  "Now, do you know the way to get
back out?"
  "Ach, no, saddam," he replied.  "Gulible thinks only of escaping
from nasty cruel orcses, not about which twistings and turnings he
takes, saddam."
  Frodo turned to their earlier guide.  "Maglor?  Do you know this
place?"
  "No, I have no memory of it at all," Maglor answered.  "It must be one
of the new dorms that have been 'under construction' since even before
I taught here.  I'm afraid that means that we are closer to the way we
entered than to Durthang House, but at least we can hope that there is
an exit nearby that we can reach before day traps us inside."
  Sam was staring at the walls in the all but nonexistent light.  "Look
here, master," he said, grimacing at how easily the term came to his
lips: that would have to change.  "It almost looks like there might be
a map on this side.  Too bad there aren't emergency lights here, or
some other light for when all other lights go out."
  "That's it!" cried Frodo.  "The Lady's stone!"  He quickly pulled out
Galadriel's gift, but it lay dark and lifeless in his hand.
  "Wasn't there something you were supposed to say, sir?" suggested Sam. 
"Some name or other?  Something about lumber?"
  Frodo held up the stone, and said, "All the saws here!"  As it had
before, it glowed brightly in his hand, and the light it made revealed
what was indeed a map, showing an exit barely over a mile away.  It
also revealed an overpowering rage in the face of Maglor.
  "Mine!  That light is mine!" he yelled.  Quick as lightning, his
sword was out of its scabbard and he leapt up screaming and slashing
toward Frodo and the other hobbits.  They fled down the hall toward
the exit, as they heard the crazed refrain spring up behind them:

   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die-die,
   Die die-die!  Die die-die die die die die 
   Die-die-die-die die! ...

  And on it went, repeating again and again as they ran for their lives
before the berserk madman.  They would have been caught and slain long
since, except that Maglor's longer legs had just been injured in
battle.  Even so, his greater size and strength began to tell, and Sam
began to lose hope.  Spiegel was still regaining muscle, after all,
and all this running was taking its toll: she was already gasping for
breath and struggling to go on.  Sam prepared himself to turn and die
fighting as a good revolutionary should.
  Just at that moment, another Elf sprang out of a side passage and
floored Maglor with a right cross to the jaw.  "Gotcha again, you
second-rate quitter!" the newcomer sneered.  At the end of their
strength anyway, the hobbits slumped to a stop and turned to watch.
  "Daeron!" exclaimed Maglor.  "How nice of you to drop by, what with
your busy solo career and all."  The two Elves eyed each other warily.
  "It didn't have to be a solo career, but you just had to be a movie
star, didn't you?" Daeron parried.  "Not that I'm interested in
working with the guy who slew so many nephews and cousins of mine in
Doriath."
  "You weren't even there, so what do you know?" countered Maglor. 
"You'd already run off lonely and sobbing years and years earlier,
just because you'd let some dirty Man take away your Lustianne. 
What were you doing all that time that was so much more important than
defending your homeland?"
  "You bastard!" yelled Daeron, and soon the two were boxing back and
forth across the hall.
  Frodo motioned that it was time for the hobbits to make good their
escape, and Sam and the others followed toward the exit.  Just as they
jogged out of view, they heard Maglor scream out to them from the
distance, "Know this, Frodo!  I will pursue you with vengeance and
hatred to the ends of the World so long as you shall keep from me that
stone that bears the light bound by my fath--", at which moment a
particularly loud thump cut his oath short.  With that, the hobbits
burst forth from the exit and found themselves at the edge of a fair
country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams, less than an hour
before the coming of a new day.

This chapter of this epic work is presented through the courtesy of Steuard Jensen <sbjensen@midway.uchicago.edu>. Copyright © 2001 by the author. All rights reserved. Some variance between this e-text and the original printed material by Professor Tolkien is inevitable. Using this as an electronic resource for scholarly or research purposes may lead to a certain degree of academic embarassment. All agree that the printed version of the text, available from respectable publishers such as Houghton Mifflin and Ballantine Books, is to be preferred. A rare recording of Maglor's song, recorded by Tolkien's son's wife's dentist's nephew's third stepson, can be downloaded from the S. B. Jensen Tolkien Archives.