If LotR had been written by someone else!?

[Orofarne]

Sorry, I was reading this thread and this just came to me.


There once was a Hobbit called Baggins,
who rode ponies, not horese nor wagons.
He owned the One Ring
That terrible thing!
And broke into the houses of dragons.



_________________________
"Look my friends, here's a pretty hobbit skin to wrap an Elven princeling in!"

[Galadriel]

HAHAHAHA! P.G. Wodehouse?? HAHAHAHA! He's one of my favourites buuut...
Nay, I think 'tis best left to Tolkien!

Oh Lord, imagine if Stephenie Meyer wrote LotR!
"There was also an Elf wearing green and brown. His name was Legolas, I think. He was a messenger from his father, Thranduil, the King of Mirkwood. It was hard to determine who was more beautiful: the rugged ranger Aragorn, or the Elf."
"I gasped. Lothlorien was so beautiful. Everything seemed so bright: the flowers swayed in the breeze and the trees shimmered in gold and silver. It wasn't fair. Why was EVERYTHING in Lothlorien so perfect?"
Haha, what an epic fail!

[Orofarne]

1] is Bella running around in Middle Earth? and
2] if so,how come no one has killed her yet?

[Galadriel]

Originally Posted by Orofarne

1] is Bella running around in Middle Earth? and
2] if so,how come no one has killed her yet?

Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if Gimli just cut off her head. She is incredibly annoying

[Archaic Elf]

The versions by James Joyce and PG Wodehouse are the best in the original post. I would probably read one or the other if there were legitimate parodies. I've never read Wodehouse, but that just looked to be so funny. The version by Raymond Chandler also looked good. I'm into old 1930s mobster films, and that reads like one.

I haven't finished reading the whole thread yet, but a version by William Blake would be cool to read. It would be pretty hard to figure out the symbolism, but he would bring a new found intensity to the novels.

What a cool thread.

[Pitchwife]

Originally Posted by Archaic Elf

a version by William Blake would be cool to read. It would be pretty hard to figure out the symbolism

Yeah to both! Especially the ambiguity of Orc. On a slightly more serious note, I could imagine a Blakeish Silmarillion, mapping the Zoas onto the Valar or vice versa - Aulë would obviously be Urthona/Los, while Luvah/Orc would have to be something like Tulkas and Melkor rolled into one; and then it gets complicated.

But what about this for starters?

Did Elven feet in ancient times
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And were the holy fairy folk
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the light of Valinor
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Cortirion builded here
Among these dark Mordorian mills?

Bring me my pen of silver bright;
Bring me my notebooks of desire;
Bring me my inkpot dark as night;
Bring me my typewriter of fire!

I will not cease to subcreate
Nor shall my pen sleep in my hand
Till I've rebuilt Cortirion
In England's green & pleasant land.

[Archaic Elf]

Originally Posted by Pitchwife

Yeah to both! Especially the ambiguity of Orc. On a slightly more serious note, I could imagine a Blakeish Silmarillion, mapping the Zoas onto the Valar or vice versa - Aulë would obviously be Urthona/Los, while Luvah/Orc would have to be something like Tulkas and Melkor rolled into one; and then it gets complicated.

But what about this for starters?

Did Elven feet in ancient times
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And were the holy fairy folk
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the light of Valinor
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Cortirion builded here
Among these dark Mordorian mills?

Bring me my pen of silver bright;
Bring me my notebooks of desire;
Bring me my inkpot dark as night;
Bring me my typewriter of fire!

I will not cease to subcreate
Nor shall my pen sleep in my hand
Till I've rebuilt Cortirion
In England's green & pleasant land.

Sweet! Very nice indeed.
Thinking of the Songs of Experience, there would be so many subtly dark undertones to even the most innocent and harmless features of the story, never mind seeing Mordor! I haven't read Blake's prophetic books in years, but they were so vivid and thought provoking. I think we would all walk away a little scarred like Frodo after reading Blake's LOTR or Silmarillion.

[Morthoron]

WAITING FOR GONDOR

(A pastiche of Beckett's absurdist two-act play juxtaposed with an abandoned Ingmar Bergman script whittled down to a single page of narrative for the sake of relieving the inveterate boredom related to plays – and wordy absurdist plays in particular - what with their parroting on about personal and public paradigms and parameters, whilst nihilistically relating human foibles in a stream-of-consciousness manner without moral or satisfying climax. So, get out your clove cigarettes and absinthe, don your Che Guevera t-shirt and put a volume of Camus or Sartre on your archetypical, upper-middle-class, bourgeois coffee table milled from recycled barn board, and recite after me: Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…Stately, plump Buck Mulligan…)

Erkenbrand dismounted gingerly from his steed and slumped onto a low mound of grass that jutted from the side of the rutted road. He grunted. Sluggishly, he attempted to pull off his boot and remove the insidious stone that had bitten into his arch for the last several leagues. But the boot was as immovable as he was exhausted. He made one last half-hearted attempt but was defeated before he even started.

"Such is life," he muttered tonelessly. "Life is such."

"I am of like mind," said Erestor, who had walked with his lame steed from the far side of the tumbling field. "But we Elves have fought the long defeat for the last three ages. We fought valiantly. We died with our boots on. But now the shoe seems to be on the other foot."

Erkenbrand simply shrugged off the irony. He should have been surprised at the sight of an Elf in the middle of Rohan, but he was just too tired. "I am glad to see Elves this far south once again; I thought you were gone forever."

"Forever?" Erestor laughed a bit. "A few years, a decade, a century: these seem an eternity to you Mannish-folk."

Erkenbrand caught the haughty undertones of the Elf's words. "But Prince Imrahil down in Dol Amroth claims to have Elven ancestors."

"Not bloody likely," Erestor grunted with his usual Noldorin disdain. "He is a nobody. A petty prince. Imrahil's mythic forebear couldn't even get a whiff of that perfumed personage."

Erkenbrand was taken aback at the Elf's profane brusqueness. "So much for vaunted Elvish courtesy."

Erestor shrugged and sat next to the man of Rohan on the raised bit of turf. "Don't believe the hype," the Elf grumbled. "It is merely a device we Elves use to maintain a social advantage over you miserable Aftercomers."

Erkenbrand raised an eyebrow. He shifted the toes in his boot but the stubborn stone was lodged indelibly between sole and skin. He grimaced. Erestor noticed the man's discomfort but ignored it. Or perhaps he was amused by it. It could be that this precise moment was a microcosm of history itself, and the Firstborn at last refused to aid the Usurper. Erestor the rebel.

"Oh, would you lay off the stilted inner dialogue and help me?" Erkenbrand grumbled.

"Help you what?"

"Help me take off this boot!"

"Does it pain you?"

"Does it pain me? Who else but an effete Elf would utter such a phrase!"

"Does it hurt the precious?" Erestor hissed in return.

"Yes, it hurts. Dash it all!"

"Live with pain; it will make you stronger."

"Is that an Elvish saying?"

"No, but it is appropriate in this instance."

Erkenbrand was not amused. He leaned again toward his stubborn footwear: a boot as bold as his brash Dunlender servants - and just about as useless. He didn't want to show any weakness to the Elf, but he had ridden for many an hour and even the Horse Lords of Rohan knew well the exhaustion of mounted travel. Evidently, Elves did not. Erestor sighed in exasperation, rose without a hint of exertion, grabbed Erkenbrand's boot by the heel and casually slid it from the man's swollen foot. The recalcitrant rock rolled out onto the rutted road.

"There. All better?" Erestor smirked and then muttered, "So much for the Gift of Men."

"What do you mean by that?" Erkenbrand growled, quite tired of the Elf's pomposity.

"Nothing, nothing," Erestor said distractedly. "I just find it rather odd that Middle-earth shall be ruled by your" – and here he paused with a sour frown as if it were an effort to maintain a sense of decorum - "your…race."

"Well, you high 'n' mighty folk have left us a pish-poor inheritance, to be sure," Erkenbrand laughed. "And what do you Elves know of Man's destiny in any case?"

"What do I know of Man's destiny?" Erestor pursed his lips. "I could tell you more of cabbages than mortal kings. But it matters not. Soon the Elves shall be leaving these shores."

"Leaving? Where are you off to?"

"West. Over the Sundering Sea. To Elvenhome."

"Pffft!" Erkenbrand spat. "It's not like you've been a bloody part of this world anyway."

"Beg pardon?"

"You Elves. You're like madly eccentric neighbors holed up in moldering mansions for countless years. Safe but insecure behind high iron gates. Weird, decrepit folk, mooning over past glories."

Erestor rolled his eyes. "And Men?" he laughed corrosively. "You know not where you are going, and you know not where you have been. You and your ilk are like little lap dogs chasing their tails. Thank Eru you lack the ability of the hound to lick its own private parts; otherwise, your race would be extinct."

Erkenbrand cursed and his face turned red. But Erestor merely laughed. "Forgive me. Please, forgive me, man of Rohan," the Elf said cheerfully. "We are allies; or, at least, we are both enemies of the One Enemy. And an enemy of my enemy is –"

"-- is a friend?" Erkenbrand interrupted as he slowly unclenched his fists. "We Rohirrim have just such a saying."

"Most likely borrowed from the Elves," Erestor winked.

Now Erkenbrand laughed. "Then let us lay aside insult and misunderstanding and be on our way," he said as he slipped his boot back on.

"Hold!" Erestor answered, surveying the area with the visual acuity of the Elves. Seemingly satisfied, he added, "No sense in leaving. We might as well wait here."

"Wait? Wait for whom?"

"Wait for Gondor."

"Do you think they'll come?"

"Certainly," Erestor said with a certain certainty.

There was a very long silence. Gondor, it seems, was running late.

"Ummm," Erekenbrand hummed dumbly. "What shall we do while we wait?"

"How about a nice game of chess?" Erestor asked.

That would be fine," Erkenbrand nodded. "Do you have a set, Ingmar?"

"Yes, I have one in my saddle bag," the Elf replied. "And it is Erestor, not Ingmar."

The Elf laid the board on a boulder on the beach as the susurration of the surf sighed while sadly sidling up and down the sand.

"Alliteration is a hidebound byword for the Old Guard," The harlequin dwarf croaked as he brushed sand from his parti-colored pantaloons. "It is the sad gibbering pronouncement of the global cultural narrative." He then moved a pawn forward two spaces (but he never actually used the word pawn – to him, it was 'proletarian worker held in thrall by bloody monarchists').

The old fishwife aggressively brought out her knight. "Lor', 'ere ye go agin'," she spat, "rejectin' classic forms 'o' lit'rature fer yer post-modern caterwaulin'. 'Oil take th' 'literation 'o' Beowulf o'er Joyce's pale imertations, truth t' tell. Gimme Blake or Shakespeare any ol' day – it's blokes loike Borges 'n' Burroughs what gets me 'ackles up."

The Harlequin dwarf's motley cap tinkled merrily as he loomed over the chessboard, but the jester was not pleased by the fishwife's harangue. He glowered. With a wave of his mock scepter, his bauble, he signaled to the one-eyed undertaker, who blew a futile horn, took his place behind the shrew, and waited. It is what funeral directors do best: wait, patiently. The Harlequin moved another 'proletarian worker held in thrall by bloody monarchists' up a space to guard his brother worker.

"All I'm sayin'," the fishwife muttered, peering uneasily over her shoulder at the silent, vulturine man of the dismal trade, "is ye bloody well can't abandon four 'unnert year of lit'rary accomplishments merely by loudly proclaimin' th' failure 'o' language and Man's unability of escapin' 'is condition." She then slyly baited the Harlequin with a pawn prone at the center of the board.

The bells flopping from the three folds of the Harlequin's headgear jangled with the unnerving minimalism of a Phillip Glass composition. Barely able to contain his glee, he quickly took the fishwife's pawn and said, "Only a buffoon would have made that move."

The fishwife laughed aloud and took the Harlequin's pawn with her knight. "Tatterdemalion!" she squealed with delight. "You even babble in post-modern self-referential irony!"

Standing ankle-deep in the surf, a mime wept silently.

"Mister Frodo, Mister Frodo," Sam said nervously as he jostled his master awake. "It's getting near dawn. P'raps we'd best get on our way."

"Oh Sam, I had the oddest dream," Frodo grumpled as he yawned and stretched. "It was an absurdist nightmare with Rohirrim, Elves, jesters, fishwives, one-eyed undertakers, mimes and the music of Phillip Glass."

"I prefer John Cage or Zappa, personally," Sam grunted in disapproval.

[Pitchwife]

Sam obviously has a sound taste in music!

[Galadriel]

I was wondering...can anyone pull a Victor Hugo? I loved his Les Misérables.

[morwen edhelwen]

All right, so this is inspired by "That 70s Show", which is one of my favourite TV shows, other than "The Mentalist'. It's an AU, and I got the idea from jeanster's Leave It to Beaver parody "Leave It To Frodo" on the Straight Dope Message Board. NOTE: Some scenes are skipped because the Pilot episode is long. And some of the language is the same, although the text is mostly mine meant to represent the same ideas as the Pilot)

So here it is

That Third Age Show Pilot
(Theme snippet. White text on a black screen reads "Frodo Baggins' Basement, Hobbiton, The Shire, 8 pm. FRODO is sitting next to his relatives MERRY and PIPPIN, and the room also contains EOWYN, who lives down the street, SAM, and ARAGORN)

MERRY Come on Frodo, do it.

FRODO (looks at both Merry and Pippin) Why can't you or Pippin do it? It was your idea.

PIPPIN:Yeah but Frodo, you live here. It's your house.

MERRY: And if you don't do it, the ale will be gone
FRODO: But what about Gandalf? He'll see it.

MERRY: Frodo! I need that ale.

EOWYN: Just avoid my uncle if you're going to the kitchen

FRODO: What?

EOWYN: He's been acting different and looking different recently. Older.
Look, just don't look at him.

FRODO: OK.

PIPPIN: Remember the ale!

(FRODO makes this way upstairs. The hallway is crammed with guests from the neighbourhood. FRODO bumps into his uncle BILBO)
BILBO: Oh hi, Frodo.

FRODO: Hi, Uncle Bilbo.

BILBO (taking ale from the counter) Anyone want more food? Would you put these on the table?
FRODO: Sure, Uncle Bilbo.
(FRODO grabs hold of the ale. He puts some on the table but takes just enough for himself. As he walks back downstairs he runs into THEODEN)

FRODO: Mr. Theoden!

GANDALF: Theoden looks like-- what happened to Theoden? Humans don't age that fast.

FRODO: Someone cursing his ***?

GANDALF: Frodo, don't say that. You're still a young hobbit. And what are you carrying?

FRODO: Uh, just some ale

GANDALF: Put it away.

FRODO: I will, Gandalf.

(FRODO walks downstairs. As the kitchen door closes, a snippet of conversation between BILBO and GANDALF can be heard)

GANDALF: Still have that ring, Bilbo?

BILBO: Yes. But I've been thinking that I might give it to Frodo.

(The basement. FRODO rushes down with the ale)
FRODO: Guys! My uncle's giving me his ring!

ARAGORN: You're getting the ring?

FRODO: Yeah! The one he got from Gollum that can turn you invisible.


(MERRY has spotted the ale.)

MERRY: Well, the most important thing is- Frodo stole some ale! (He raises a toast) To Frodo!

ALL: To Frodo!

FRODO: This is the happiest day of my life!

(The Basement again, a few days later)

MERRY: So how are things with the ring?

FRODO: He hasn't really decided whether or not to give it to me yet. I think he secretly wants to keep it. He keeps on calling it his "precious".

(A knock on the door. ARWEN, Aragorn's girlfriend, comes in)

ARWEN: Hi Aragorn! Hey I heard about Frodo's ring. Can I have a look?

ARAGORN: You came here just to have a look at Frodo's ring?

(To be continued)

[morwen edhelwen]

OK, I know that was really bad...

[damonbutler11]

Wow brilliant really, I dont know what to say...

Dr. Suess : I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not eat Suaron's ring with ham! I will not eat them in the morn, I will not eat them with Boromir's horn! I will not eat them with a Ringwraith, I will not eat them in the bath! I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not Suaron's ring with ham.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Well, Legate already did a Naruto version. So I shall up the metaphorical ante with something . . . deeper in the anime esoterica.

(Urubochi Gen's someone who would be into the concept of eucatastrophe.)

~*~*~

Anello Portatore Frodo☆Magica
by Magica Quartet

Episode 8: I'm Such a Fool

[Spoiler warning: In the absolutely ludicrously unlikely case that you are following the original show, turn back now. Here be spoilers.]

"Ringbearers are messengers of hope, locked in perpetual battle with the Ringwraiths, bearers of despair. Annatar, a mysterious creature of fair semblance, offers young Hobbits a contract: he will grant one of their wishes, in exchange for becoming Ringbearers.

"Miki Sméagol and Sakura Bilbo discover the truth behind Ringbearers: that their souls have been taken from their bodies and placed inside the rings they bear. The next day, Smeagol realises that his grandmother, whom he had healed with a miracle he had obtained in exchange for becoming a ringbearer, continues to hold him in contempt. Smeagol falls deeper into despair."

[Madoka Frodo is sitting on a park bench, clearly in anguish. Annatar appears from behind a tree.]

Annatar: Do you hate me, too?

Madoka Frodo: If I hate you, will you turn Sméagol back?

Annatar: No. I'm afraid that's beyond my power.

Frodo: You said that I would be a really powerful Ringbearer. Is that true?

Annatar: "Really powerful" is an understatement. You would be extraordinarily powerful. Possibly the most powerful in Middle-earth.

Frodo: If I had listened to you, maybe Sméagol wouldn't have become a Ringbearer...

Annatar: Sméagol made his own wish. It has nothing to do with you.

Frodo: Why me? What's so special about me?

Annatar: I don't know. Honestly, your hidden potential is something I would never have even dreamed of, a Hobbit with a power equal to that of an Elf lord or a hero of the Edain. I would like an explanation myself.

Frodo: Really?

Annatar: All I know is, if you unleash your power, you may just cause a miracle, or you may even change the laws of Arda. But I can't explain why you alone have that kind of power.

Frodo: I thought I didn't have any dreams. I thought I'd just live out my life here in the Shire, never being able to make anyone happy or be good for anything. It made me sad and lonely, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Annatar: But the reality is very different. If you wish it, Frodo, I could make you into God.

Frodo: Then could I do what you couldn't?

Annatar: And what's that?

Frodo: If I made a contract with you, could I turn Sméagol back to normal?

Annatar: It would be easy for you. Is that a wish worth trading away your soul?

Frodo: For Sméagol, gladly. Make me a Ringbe--

[Annatar is shot in the eye with an arrow. Out of the shadows comes the figure of Akemi Samwise, holding a bow.]

Frodo: This is horrible! Why did you kill him?

Akemi Samwise: Why are you always sacrificing yourself? You're not good for anything?

Frodo: Huh?

Samwise: You have no meaning? Don't put yourself down. Think about the people who care about you. Stop this! There are people who would mourn if you were gone! Why don't you understand? What about everyone who is trying to protect you?

[Samwise falls to his knees.]

Frodo: Sam!

[Frodo stares blankly at Sam as the vague shadows of memory assault him.]

Frodo: Have we... Have we met somewhere before?

Samwise: I'm sorry...

Frodo: I have to find Sméagol.

Samwise: Wait! Miki Sméagol is already--

Frodo: I'm sorry.

[Frodo walks away.]

Samwise: Wait, Mr Frodo!

[Samwise reaches out for Frodo, but his knees won't support him. He falls back to the ground, sobbing. Meanwhile Annatar's body reforms, and he stands up holding the arrow that has pierced him.]

Annatar: You just don't learn, do you? That is not my true body. Destroying it won't do any good. You're just wasting your energy.

[Samwise stands back up, staring evenly at Annatar.]

Annatar: This is the second time you've tried to kill me. That's told me what kind of attacks you use. That was time-manipulation, right?*

[Samwise continues to stare at Annatar.]

Annatar: It seems that my guess was right. You aren't from this timeline, are you?

Samwise: I know what you are and what you're planning.

Annatar: And that's why you keep interfering with me. But do you think you can change Kaname Frodo's fate like this?

Samwise: Yes. I will not allow your plan to succeed, Annatar... Or should I say Sauron, Lord of the Rings?

[The scene switches to Sakura Bilbo and Miki Sméagol.]

Sakura Bilbo: I finally found you. When are you gonna stop being stupid?

Miki Smèagol: Sorry for wasting your time.

Bilbo: Huh? That's weird for you to say.

Smèagol: I don't care anymore. What was important to me, what I wanted to protect... I don't know what those are anymore.

Bilbo: Hey.

[Sméagol reveals his ring. The inscription on it is glowing bright red.]

Smèagol: Hope and despair always balance out to zero. That's what you said, right? I understand what that means now. I did save a few people, but with each one, the hate in me grew. I even hurt Frodo, my best friend.

Bilbo: Sméagol, did you...?

Smèagol: Whenever I wish for someone to be happy, someone else has to suffer as much. That's what it means to be a Ringbearer.

[Tears fall from Sméagol's eyes]

Smèagol: I'm such a fool.

[Sméagol's ring reacts, glowing and distorting the space around it.]

Bilbo: SMÉAGOL!!!

[Annatar watches from some high place.]

Annatar: Ringbearers refer to those who bear rings. And once the bearer falls into despair, they turn into Ringwraiths.
__________
* As used in The Lost Road. Sort of.

[Galadriel]

Originally Posted by damonbutler11

Wow brilliant really, I dont know what to say...

Dr. Suess : I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not eat Suaron's ring with ham! I will not eat them in the morn, I will not eat them with Boromir's horn! I will not eat them with a Ringwraith, I will not eat them in the bath! I will not eat them Samwise I am, I will not Suaron's ring with ham.

It's Sauron. And this is funny.

[morwen edhelwen]

Wow brilliant really, I dont know what to say...

Were you talking about my LOTR-in-the-style-of-That-70s-Show? If so, thanks! I LOVE that show! Hey, anyone want to read another "That Third Age show"?