What if "The Lord of the Rings"had been written by Richard Bach

The Long Quest

by jlossanto

There were just nine of them left now. There had been an even one hundred just five days ago. CRACK! An orc whip. Boromir had just received his first warnin.

Frodo was exhausted. His feet were horribly swollen, but at least they had gone numb. His knee joints felt like two bricks grinding together, and his spine was a column of fire. He reached under the mithril surcoat and ran his hand across his chest; each rib stood out in sharp relief. Hungry. Frodo took a tube from his belt pouch and squeezed it into his mouth. The burp tasted like lembas. "Water skin," he called. An orc dismounted from the wagon, ran over and handed him one. Frodo still didn't like those crossbows they carried. CRACK! Boromir's second warning.

The rules were simple on this quest. Easy as putting one foot in front of the other. All he had to do, all any of them had to do, was walk. Walk at pace of 4 miles an hour. The orcs in the wagon monitored their speed. Fall below 4 miles an hour, and you got a warning after 30 seconds. A second warning after a minute. Your final warning after a minute-thirty. After that, you were out. But, if you made it for an hour without falling below pace, you would lose a warning. Three hours and you were back in the clear.

CRACK! Boromir's third warning. Frodo could see him now, struggling. Trying to get back up to pace. He was sweating furiously. The orcs in the wagon raised their crossbows to high port. Boromir was about to be out of the quest. Frodo passed him by.

"I'm next," Frodo thought. For a while he thought he might just win this thing. After Gandalf had gone down, Frodo had heard he was the odds-on favorite to win. That was just two short days ago. But not now. Frodo knew he was almost done. "Smeagol," he thought, "it's gonna be Smeagol." Smeagol hadn't gotten a warning since early the first day. He was simply relentless.

Behind him, the crowd roared. Boromir had just gotten his ticket punched. He was out of the race. Frodo was glad he hadn't seen it. At least he knew that this was going to be the final day. He wouldn't have to make it through another night. Someone elbowed him. Samwise.

"Hey, Frodo. You really tweaked Sauron's balls, dintchoo?" Sam grinned weakly.

"Yeah. The Great Eye is not amused." Suddenly, before he could catch himself, Frodo tripped and fell. He lay in a daze. CRACK! The pain brought him back: his first warning! Frodo staggered back to his feet. Now he had to go a whole hour before he could relax again.