Hobbit Heartache—Chapter 8: The Land of the Elves

With all of the excitement over the past week (ten [10] copies of Hobbit Heartache are being shipped AT THIS VERY MOMENT! I have received a crate of twenty-four [24] boxes of Great Grains! I got to wear face paint and a costume in a dodgeball tournament!), I have fallen ill. My immune system became overloaded with the sudden joy and decided instead that I should go to bed by 9:00 p.m. each night this week.

So my happy thoughts of these things:

(I'm sorry—I promise this is probably the last time in this blog post that I'm going to show the book cover.) 

(I can't even believe I'm writing this post right now! I have twenty-four (24) boxes of Great Grains to eat!)

 . . . have now turned to thoughts of these things:

-Homemade neti pots (yes, Velvet helped me make one last night for my stuffy nose, and NO, I did not take pictures you sick freaks.)

-An unprecedented amount of Vitamin C and my FAVORITE THING EVER, oregano oil.

(If you're unsure of whether I'm being sarcastic or not, please try oregano oil. One drop under your tongue will quickly give you the answer.)

And basically I'm just really preoccupied with all my concerns about what exactly is the sexiest way to smear Vaseline around my sore nose, and is it prettier to keep Kleenex hanging from both nostrils, or just one? I have so many questions and Glamour magazine isn't helping!

This is the face of someone who would clearly die in the Cornucopia stage of the Hunger Games. Without even grabbing any supplies first.

But I have sworn to return to the blogging game, so enough complaining: IT'S BACK TO BUSINESS.

(I lied.) 

Let's get right into it. Recap time! For those just joining us, here's what you've missed in the first seven (7) chapters of Hobbit Heartache, the Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings erotic crossover parody. 

It's Spring Break and the Sweet Valley High gang has landed in Middle-earth! A freak accident leaves them stranded in the forests of Middle-earth, where they happen to merge paths with a group of fun-loving and sexy hobbits. Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Samwise and Pippin are happy to have the extremely tanned teenagers join their journey to find and destroy a beautiful and powerful ring. 

Feelings and fur start to fly as the group travels forth. Jessica has fallen hard for Frodo, but his eyes sure seem to linger intently on Bilbo, much to Merry's hidden rage. Elizabeth believes she has found her academic soulmate in Gandalf, but Gandalf appears reluctant to return her feelings. Samwise struggles to control his brandywine addiction, while Pippin's lighthearted antics serve only to annoy Lila and Bruce. Distracted by excessive hair and hormones, the group fails to realize that they are being stalked by Lila's evil doppelganger, who has traveled all the way from Antarctica to take over Lila's life. 

Will Pippin's premonitions about the Land of the Elves come true? Will the gang ever realize that an evil doppelganger and her cat are among them? Will Elizabeth summon the guts to make a move on Gandalf? Will Merry's secret hatred for Bilbo make things a little awkward?

READ IF YOU DARE! AND LET US NOT FORGET THAT I KNOW NOTHING OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS WORLD!

Got it? Ready to jump in and read the latest erotic adventure? No? Extremely confused and kind of irritated? Need some fresh Kleenex for your nose holes? Me too. Sometimes you have to do things the hard way. Get the full story here:

Chapter One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six 

Seven

 . . .  and that brings us up-to-date. Now read and enjoy—I gotta go. Twenty-four (24) boxes of cereal aren't gonna eat themselves.

Who knew that Pippin could pull off a moustache?!

As always, the lovely, hair-filled artwork is by Zak Tatham.

Chapter Eight

The Land of the Elves

Merry awoke in the morning to the sound of Bilbo’s strained wheezing. Ah, good, the old bag slumbers still, he thought, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He watched the cavernous chest of Baggins rise and fall in its rhythmic way, hoping it would suddenly halt. He stared for quite some time, until he noticed that Frodo was beginning to stir. Soon he would wake.

Merry glanced down under his moss blanket. Yes, surely enough, his morning visitor was there, as reliable as the tide and just as unruly. He shed his blanket and pulled himself upright to prominently display his bulging wand to Frodo. Merry hoped that it might be the first sight Frodo laid his eyes upon in the morn. Merry had used that same trick with Sandyman once, and the sight had been so impressive that Sandyman had screamed loudly once, and then fainted.

Frodo slumbered on soundly, so Merry coughed and rustled the branches by his head. This produced the desired effect. Frodo jolted awake as if branded by a dwarf’s iron prod.

Merry moved his hips to and fro in a languid fashion and called out, “Good morn, dear Frodo! Delightful dreams did visit me the night past!”

“Oh, good morn, Merry. The sun smiles upon us today, does she not? Oh my, how sweetly Bilbo sleeps!” exclaimed Frodo, his eyes glued to the sleeping beast.

Merry’s smile vanished and he nodded. He despised feeling dejected so early in the morn. He walked by Bilbo and imperceptibly gave him a kick, a kick filled with jealous ire.

“Time to wake oneself!” You horrid brute, he added silently.




The camp was soon bustling as the inhabitants dressed and made a breakfast of blackened squirrel and a liquid concoction of forest greens and peat moss. A smoothie, the twins had called it.

How strange and delicious, Merry thought, wiping the green remnants from his mouth. Today was the day the group would enter the Land of the Elves and the nerves were palpable. After digestion and the post-breakfast song, the group set off on their way.

Merry took his usual position in the middle of the group and watched as Frodo chatted with Jessica and Bilbo. The more licentious twin had had her arm linked through Frodo’s every day for the past week’s time.

She is a fool, Merry thought, for Frodo is not charmed by golden skin or pectoral mounds of useless fat. Frodo is charmed by wit and courage and strength, every trait that I possess that he is blind to.

Being blind did not always bother Merry. In fact, he could recall one particular rousing occasion in which he spent an entire evening blindfolded by the hairy hands of Hugo Bracegirdle. He had been forced to crawl on his hands and knees for hours at a time, feeling his furry skin contract with goose flesh as it was tantalized by quail feathers, porcupine quills and a leather hat. It was some of the most thrilling thirteen hours of his life.

Merry felt a commotion behind him and swiftly removed his hand from his burlap trousers. He turned and saw Winston sprawled on the ground, having faltered over his immense feet once more. Merry extended a damp hand to the young lad.

“Hey Merry, what’s shaking?” said Winston.

“Why, nothing is shaking. Everything appears perfectly stable,” replied Merry.

Winston chuckled. “Well, that’s good. But I was asking how you’re doing.”

“Oh. I see. I am perfectly adequate and surely not aroused,” answered Merry.

“Really? Because you seem kind of sad. And I don’t want to be nosy, but I noticed that you stare at Frodo a lot . . . and sometimes you say his name in your sleep,” said Winston slowly.

“Am I truly that transparent?” wondered Merry. “Is my affection as unconcealed as Bilbo’s cumbersome corpulence?”

“Uh, well, I’m not sure. Some people may not have noticed. I think I did because I know how it is to love someone and feel invisible to them,” said Winston sadly.

“Who is it that you love, my friend?” asked Merry.

Winston did not answer, but instead stared straight ahead, his doleful eyes boring into Frodo and Jessica’s backsides. Merry felt bile rising in his throat.

“Frodo?” Merry spit out, a vein emerging in his forehead.

“Jessica,” Winston whispered. “I’ve loved her since I was six. But she just sees me as goofy old Winston, only good for a laugh, always falling down and stalking her.”

Merry’s limbs returned to their relaxed state and he reflected upon Winston’s words. It certainly did make sense. Winston was always trying to speak with the golden-haired girl but she took no note of him, preferring to drape herself over the indifferent Frodo.

“Why do you not try to love the other one? Surely they must be similar,” suggested Merry, pointing at Elizabeth. Elizabeth was hiking next to the wise Gandalf, nodding her head vigorously and taking notes on a piece of bark as he spoke.

“Oh, no. You really don’t know the Wakefield twins,” replied Winston, giving his head a wry shake. “They’re like chocolate and vanilla, like a tidal wave and a bubble bath, like the Droids and Spontaneous Combustion. Wait, is any of this making sense to you?”

“Perhaps they are akin to a comparison of Mabel’s peasant jelly and Vermillia’s grass stew,” suggested Merry after a moment’s thought. “Or a tiltrove tree and a hopdragon bush. These are truly different things!”

Winston began to laugh, and laugh he did until his face turned as scarlet as a cardinal. It was then that Merry first noticed how handsome Winston’s face was, how smooth the skin appeared, like the silken rags that he enjoyed bonding his limbs with on occasion. The two shared a smile.

“We have arrived!” called out Bilbo, halting the group. Merry looked up in surprise. He and Winston must have chatted for over two hours, for they had indeed reached the entrance to the Land of the Elves.

“This is it?” asked the Bruce fellow, whose face seemed to be frozen in a dour expression. Merry did not care for him much but did appreciate his form-fitting trousers.

The village was comprised of many thin, tall buildings that seemed to touch the sky, as the Elves were quite taller than the hobbits. A few of the structures looked so thin that they could topple over in a breeze.

Bilbo shan’t be able to fit through the doorways! thought Merry with gleeful amusement.

While the group stood outside the entrance gazing in, the sound of a tambourine flitted through the air. It was shortly joined by at least thirty more. The teenagers exchanged confused glances and Jessica pressed her body against Frodo’s.

Harlot, thought Merry.

“Ah, they are beckoning us to enter,” explained Bilbo. “While we hobbits love to sing, Elves are masters of the tambourine and other belled instruments. It is one of our greatest differences, and one that is most difficult to overcome. Come, we must obey.”

The all-knowing Gandalf led the group under the grand entranceway and did not pause a moment before heading to the tallest and most majestic building, topped with flags and a small Elven sentry. This was the Elf King Elrond and Queen Galadriel’s abode.

“Welcome, Gandalf the Grey, hobbits and unappealing creatures. We have been expecting you,” announced the King of the Elves, perched on a throne made of golden pine cones. His auburn hair swept along the floor, so long and lustrous was it.

“Salutations from Hobbiton, King Elrond. We are searching for information about the Ring,” said Bilbo. “Have you information to share?”

“Not only have I information, but I have the Ring itself,” announced the King. “It was given to me after I killed the guardian of the Rivendell sinkhole. I brought his body home and we feasted upon it for twenty-four days, so much girth had he.

“But I had to struggle for this Ring and now so must you. It is a Ring of immense power, as you know, and if you wish to obtain it, you must provide me with something.”

“What is this item you require?” asked Frodo. “We should be most happy to help.”

The Elf King laughed, and it was a laugh that frightened Merry and weakened his bladder. “Oh, I do hope so. What I require is the blood of a hobbit.”

Pippin let out a squeal at the mention of blood, while Samwise set free a hearty belch.

“A member of our Elven community has fallen ill and will soon perish if she goes without help. Our elders have tried everything, every herb and every prayer, but nothing will aid her. There is one spell left to try and it requires the sacrificial blood of a hobbit.”

“There must be some other option!” cried out Elizabeth. “Maybe I could take a look and try to help.”

“Have you knowledge of Elven spells? Have you ever once cured a fallen Elf? Could you tell the difference between a ragweed salve and a lavender potion?” the King replied, his deep voice rising with anger. “You speak foolishly, human, and your choice in apparel offends me! I wish you to face the wall.”

Her cheeks as red as one of Mabel’s cherry and taproot tarts, Elizabeth closed her loquacious mouth and turned to the wall in shame.

“Is it true, Gandalf? Must we sacrifice one of our own?” cried out Frodo in fear.

“Yes, my hobbit. I am afraid what Elrond states is verily true. Hobbit blood must be shed,” answered Gandalf solemnly. “And it must be shed soon. The ailing Elf’s time runs short.”

“But how would we even begin to decide upon a situation like this? How can we decide who travels onto the Land of the Lifeless?” asked Merry.

“Well, where we come from, we usually put important things to a vote,” chimed in Jessica. “Like Best Hair or Miss Sweet Valley High or Sexiest Family Member, stuff like that. Do you have any slam books?”

“I won Best Jawline eight years in a row,” added Bruce, stroking his face while smirking at Galadriel.

“Misguided as she may be, I believe that Jessica’s solution may be the most efficient, given our lack of time. Let us put it to a vote,” said Bilbo, looking at the stricken group. Merry stared back at him, unable to conceal the small sliver of glee creeping into his eyes.

Oh Master Bilbo, how sweet it will be to say a final farewell, Merry thought. Do not worry; I shall keep the memory of you alive. I will name the rat that lives in the sludge by the tar pits after you. And then I shall eat it for dessert after Frodo and I have wholly merged our bodies.

“Let us vote immediately, then! There is no sense in delaying our journey,” declared Merry. “Have you parchment and ostrich ink for us, King Elrond?”

King Elrond of course did, and left the room after supplying the group with such. Bilbo instructed each member of the party to write down the name of the hobbit they believed should be sacrificed.

“Now, please remember that this is not the occasion to be petty. One must keep our journey in mind and the ultimate goal of destroying evil,” said Bilbo. “Everyone shall have but one vote, and Gandalf shall count and proclaim the results.”

Your pompous breaths are numbered. “Give me the paper!” Merry screamed.

Frozen in contemplation stood the group, each clutching their parchment. Merry scrawled his answer with deep, strong strokes and was the first to hand his paper to Gandalf. Lila and Bruce followed, and soon the wizard left the room to count the votes.

It took but a moment before he returned, his aged face unreadable.

Say it, willed Merry. Say Bilbo’s name, Gandalf. SAY IT.

The pungent aroma of sweat and fresh urine had filled the room, and only when Merry felt the dampness in his trousers did he realize he was the source. Merry was not unfamiliar with the feeling of urine in burlap, but he did not enjoy the sensation.

“My friends,” spoke Gandalf, “the vote rules that Pippin’s blood must be spilled.”

Pippin let out a cheer at the sound of his name and skipped ‘round the room, oblivious of his impending doom. Samwise sank to his knees, mouth agape.

“Count again!” roared Merry. “Why must you lie, Gandalf?”

“You know Gandalf speaks the truth, Merry. ‘Tis a most unfortunate and devastating truth, to be sure, but Gandalf the Grey’s integrity shall not be questioned,” voiced Bilbo. “It is time to say our farewells to dear Pippin.”

Pippin was most pleased by the embraces and kind words he received from all. He sang and danced in happiness and only shrieked once when he saw King Elrond’s twenty-two inch silver carving knife.

Goodbye, sweet Pippin, thought Merry, tears running down his face. You did not deserve such a death.

Elizabeth read a short poem she had quickly composed for the occasion. Merry found it quite dreadful, lacking in both style and depth. And she fancies herself an author, he thought with disbelief.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you so many times,” cried out Lila. “But you pulled my hair and created a lot of root damage.”

Samwise attempted to give a rambling eulogy, but his incoherent words became choked by sobs as he swayed back and forth. He leaned upon Bruce for support, unable to stand upright on his own. After a few painful minutes, he gave up and simply kissed Pippin’s forehead.

And so Pippin’s gentle throat was slit.

His blood, fresh and pure, was collected into an amphora and given to the King. In return, the Elf Leader handed to Gandalf the golden Ring and bid the hobbits goodbye. Both Winston and Sam vomited after leaving the Land of the Elves, while the twins’ faces shined with glimmering tears. Bilbo led the group in a three-hour dirge.

It was with weighted hearts that the hobbits lay their heads down to sleep that evening. The heart of one hobbit was filled with a rage so strong it simmered black, and the heart of another hobbit was broken into two, never to be repaired.

Is Pippin truly gone forever? Can the hobbits and Elves ever overcome their deeply-rooted differences about belled instruments? Will Elizabeth's poem make the cut for The Oracle? Will Merry's excitable bladder lead him to destroy all of his burlap trousers?

STAY TUNED.