Chapter Three: The Randomness Begins
“This was once the great
watchtower of Amon Sûl.”
For about the thirtieth time
since her journey began, not ten minutes ago, Anagorn had cause to be grateful
that she had seen the movie so many times; it helped conversations immensely
when she already knew all of Aragorn’s lines.
“Amon Sûl,” Merry repeated.
“That sounds…ominous!”
“That is a real big hill. It
would be awful fun to roll down that hill, don’t you think, Merry? I think we
should roll down that hill!” Pippin chattered away happily, seemingly oblivious
to the rest of the group.
“It would not be fun, Pippin!” Sam leveled a
fierce glare at the younger hobbit.
“Do my eyes look red to you,
Strider?” Frodo asked anxiously. “I think I’m coming down with something nasty
– my eyes itch.”
Also for the thirtieth time
within the past ten minutes, Anagorn rolled her eyes in exasperation. Between
the rapid popping from one place to another as the movie changed shots and the
warped characters that had replaced her lovable hobbits, she was getting a
nasty headache. This was the sixteenth time that hypochondriac Frodo had asked
her if something looked wrong, the sixth time Sam had snapped at somebody, the
eighteenth time Merry had acted paranoid, and the fifty-second time Pippin had
chattered wildly. Clearly, the youngest hobbit in the group was on a permanent
sugar high.
Suddenly, the scene changed
yet again, and Anagorn found herself inexplicably on Weathertop, tossing the
hobbits their swords. Too exasperated and annoyed to attempt to figure out what
had happened to the thirty seconds or so of scene that belonged before this,
Anagorn simply played along.
Just before the shot changed
once more, Anagorn glanced at the four hobbits. If the sight had not been so
pathetically sad, it would have been hysterically funny. Frodo was using the
blade of his weapon as a mirror and inspecting his pupils, Sam was glaring at
his sword moodily, Merry had backed away from the “sharp, pointy thing,” and
now cowered against the wall, and Pippin was bouncing about the plateau, waving
his sword around in figures and fighting his shadow.
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
“Poor Anne,” Cammy said
softly. “She’s got to be getting really ticked off at those poor hobbits.”
“She looks like she’s
getting a headache,” Kathryn observed.
The two girls sat
cross-legged in the center of the Mirror, eyes glued to – of all things – a
small TV set that had replaced the grove of trees during the last burst of
white light. On the screen, Anagorn was tossing the hobbits their blades.
Suddenly, the shot shifted
once more to Frodo’s sleeping form.
“Do either of you have any
Tylenol?”
Both Kathryn and Cammy
jumped at the voice just behind them. “Anagorn!”
“Whoa…how did I get back to
the Mirror?” Anagorn asked, noticing where she was for the first time.
“Wait a second…I’ve got it!”
Kathryn exclaimed. “The Mirror must be like our backstage! If we aren’t in a
particular scene, we wait it out here.”
“That does make sense,”
Cammy agreed after a moment. “Or, at least, it makes as much sense as anything
else in this Middle Aerth!”
“So, have you two been
watching me on that thing?” Anagorn asked, nodding at the TV.
“Yup,” Cammy replied. “We
were wondering how you were holding out with those hobbits.”
“Not so good,” Anagorn
replied. “Like I said, I need some Tylenol.”
“Why don’t you try the
Backpack?” Kathryn suggested. “Galadriel said they would hold many useful
things. What can be more useful than Tylenol?”
“Not a bad idea.”
Before Anagorn could so much as reach for the Backpack, she vanished.
“Oh,
dear.” Cammy turned her gaze back
to the screen, where she saw the Ringwraiths advancing toward the hobbits.
Holding…feathers?
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
“Oh, boy.”
Without any warning, Anagorn
found herself back on Weathertop – this time, facing a horde of angry
Ringwraiths!
“Well,” she told herself.
“At least they don’t have swords. All they can do with those giant feathers is tickle me to…death!” She swallowed convulsively.
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
In the Mirror, Kathryn
whispered, “Try the Backpack, Anagorn!”
Cammy joined her friend.
“C’mon, Anagorn – look in the Backpack!”
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
A single phrase ran through
Anagorn’s mind even as she panicked. Use the Enchanted Backpack.
Faced with few other
options, Anagorn slid one strap from her shoulder and began rooting through the
Backpack. Her hand brushed something metallic, and she triumphantly pulled out…
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
“A can of
spray paint?” Cammy asked
incredulously. “What good will that do?”
Kathryn sighed. “It appears our Backpacks are as faulty as
the rest of the movie.”
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
Anagorn ripped the top from
the can of spray paint. Acting purely on instinct, she aimed for the nearest
hood and pressed down on the nozzle.
A white, misty cloud spread
obligingly from the can – and completely missed the Ringwraith’s face, or, at
least, where the Ringwraith’s face would be if it had a face.
However, the white paint did
mark a large white stain down the front of the Ringwraith’s cloak.
“Aaaaaa!” With a scream, the wraith flung itself off the
cliff.
“Ringwraiths are neat freaks?“ Anagorn muttered disbelievingly under her breath. “Who’d have thought it?“
With a sudden burst of
ecstatic energy and a mischievous grin, Anagorn began to draw designs on each
Ringwraith’s robe – her initials, a cross, a happy face. One by one, the
wraiths fled from the noxious fumes and the staining power of paint.
Even as she ran across the
plateau to help the mysteriously stabbed Frodo, a grin creased Anagorn’s
features. This had turned out to be far easier than she had originally thought!
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
“Sam, do you know the athelas
plant?”
“No,” Sam grunted.
“Kingsfoil?”
“It’s a weed.” Sam’s tone clearly labeled Anagorn a total
idiot.
Unable to recall the exact
line, Anagorn replied, “See if you can find some. It will help to slow the poison.”
It took only moments to
locate the small, familiar-looking plants.
She stooped to gather them and steeled her body for what she knew was
coming.
“What’s this; a Ranger
caught off her guard?”
A nearly unnoticeable glint
of confusion flickered into Anagorn’s eyes.
Not only did the voice sound familiar - though it was clearly not
Arwen’s - but the weapon beneath her chin was decidedly not a sword. Carefully, she
turned her face and looked up into the eyes of...
“Tom Cruise?”
“You were expecting Liv
Tyler?” Tom Cruise asked calmly, sliding his gun back into its holster.
“Well...I...that
is...how...?” Anagorn stammered.
With a charming smile,
Cruise asked, “Why not? After all, this
is the most impossible mission anybody could come up with!” With that, he strode off toward the hobbits,
leaving an extremely shocked Anagorn to follow.
“Hey,
Frodo! Let’s get you outta’ here!” he said jovially.
Still in a great deal of
shock, Anagorn helped hoist Frodo onto Tom Cruise’s black horse. “Uhm...ride hard,” she whispered.
Despite the darkness, Cruise
slipped on a pair of sunglasses and replied, “I always do!” Without another word, he urged his horse to a
gallop.
“What are you doing? Those wraiths are still out there!”
Anagorn did not reply. She stood as still as stone, staring into the
blackness that had just enveloped the two on horseback. Tom Cruise? she thought incredulously.
Of all the people in the world, how did Tom Cruise end
up in Middle Earth?
Suddenly, music began to
sound in the forest. Anagorn looked
around, but all she could see was shadows dancing in the forest. Still, the music grew in volume until she
could no longer pretend she did not hear it.
The
Disclaimer: Tom Cruise does not belong to me (duh!). He appears in this story without permission
from him, his agent, or any of his “people.”
I used him because he was the best person for the job, in my humble
opinion.
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