Over Hill and Under the Influence
Bag-Endless-Fuel was almost though the Misty Mountains. The journey over the High Pass had proved uneventful so far and the little burrow-buggy was fast approaching Rivendell.
All of a sudden, a helmeted figure in overalls stepped out into the path of the mobile hobbit-home, brandishing what appeared to be a lollipop with the word ‘STOP!’ emblazoned on it. As Bag-Endless-Fuel obligingly came to a halt, it was immediately surrounded by a crew of similarly attired fellows, who promptly set about, variously, jacking, changing, tightening, adjusting, hammering and polishing.
“Ah. It looks like Elrond has laid on a much-needed pit-stop for us,” remarked Bilbo.
Behind him, unnoticed where it hung on the wall, the Elven blade Sting began to glow a pale blue.
As they worked, the mechanics started to sing.
Pack! Stack! The black track!
Grip, crank! Wrench, yank!
We’ll fit from Goblin-pits
New tyres, my lads!
“New tyres!” exclaimed Frodo joyfully. “Rad’s magic was good while it lasted, but we could certainly do with some fresh rubber.”
“Did they say ‘Goblin-pits’?” enquired Pippin, anxiously munching on a chicken wing.
“Don’t be silly, Pip,” relied Merry. “Elrond wouldn’t employ Goblins in his pit-crew.”
Nuts, bolts! From Goblin vaults!
Spanner and drill! Hammer at will!
Polish, shine, More streamline!
It's fine, my lads!
“Good. They’re adjusting the front wing,” noted Bilbo. “That should give us better down force.”
“You know, I’m sure I heard the word ‘Goblin’,” piped up Pippin again.
“Nonsense, my lad,” Bilbo reassured him. “Look. They’re handing out drinks now.”
Thirsty from their endeavours in the race, the Hobbits gratefully took the proffered bottles, as the mechanics continued their song.
Sup, swig! Quaff, drink!
Swagger and sway! Stagger and stray!
Glug, glug! The grog is drugged,
While Bag-End gleams, we Goblins scheme,
To take it by force way off course
It’s dire, my lads!
“Phew! Thatsh strong shtuff!” declared Bilbo, swaying unsteadily.
“Cshertainly putsh bire in yer felly, as gy Maffer would shay,” remarked Samwise.
“Feeling … shleepy …” murmured Frodo.
“Mmm. Not bad,” Pippin added, and promptly fell over - swiftly followed by his companions and the remainder of Bag-Endless Fuel’s crew.
***********************************
“Ouch! My head!” groaned Bilbo, as he slowly came round.
“Feels like the room’s spinning,” said Frodo, rubbing his eyes.
“That’s because it is,” observed Merry.
“Eh? That’s not right,” said Bilbo. “It’s not designed to spin.”
“And I wonder why it is so misty outside?” added Frodo, peering through the window at the white mist which appeared to be obscuring the view. “I know they’re called the Misty Mountains, but …”
“We’re not in the Misty Mountains any more,” interrupted Merry, from his post at the navigational sideboard. “We appear to be some 500 miles south-west of the High Pass, in the Drúwaith Iaur, and some 50 feet above the ground.”
“I don’t think that we’re supposed to be here,” remarked Sam.
“And I don’t think we want to be, either,” said Pippin, appearing at the hearth, his face white as a sheet. He had awoken first and, finding the door jammed, had climbed up to the thrush’s nest to take his bearings. “We appear to be caught in a giant spider’s web,” he continued. “The chimney’s clear of it, but not much else.”
“How do you know it’s a spider’s web?” asked Merry.
“Because I saw the spider!” he wailed, reason surrendering to fear. “It’s big and it’s hairy and it’s got nasty great fangs and …”
He broke off, gibbering.
“Quick, to the library! There’s not a moment to lose!” ordered Bilbo, taking Sting down from the wall. “I believe that I have just the thing.”
For what seemed like ages, the Hobbits stood watching Bilbo searching among the great, dusty tomes of his library.
“Found it!” he suddenly cried, taking down a slim packet from one of the shelves.
“What is it, Uncle Bilbo?” asked Frodo.
“This, my boy,” replied Bilbo, removing a shiny, silver disc from the packet. “Is the File of Galadriel!”