Tra-la-la-lally-ho!
The loss of Gandalf had been hard enough for the Hobbits to bear. But all hope seemed to fade when the Balrog’s wings finally gave out some 300 miles short of the Shire. Trailing the shadowy remants of the great wings, Bag-Endless-Fuel suddenly lurched into a dive and began to plummet towards the earth below. Straining with all his might, Merry was able to pull the vehicle into a glide and it hit the ground with relatively little damage. Sadly, however, the havoc wreaked by the Balrog on the little Hobbit hole’s delicate machinery had taken its toll. Ted Sandyman had done what he could with the few spare parts available to him, but the motorised Burrow was now running at less than half capacity.
“Well, that’s it I’m afraid,” Bilbo remarked ruefully. “The game’s up. We have no chance of taking the chequered flag now.”
“But surely we can … uhhhn!” replied Frodo, sliding gracelessly to the floor. Still wondering how they might uhhn and why they would want to, his companions promptly followed suit.
************************************************
When they came round, the Hobbits found themselves sitting in the engine room, bound and gagged. But that was not the worst of it. The unmistakeable sound of Elven voices tra-la-la-lallying in unison could be heard ringing out from above. And the very quaintness of it filled them with despair.
O! What are you doing, and where are you going?
Your engine needs tending! The brakes need a-mending!
O! tra-la-la-lally! Here down in the rally!
The owners of the voices suddenly appeared in the engine room and began to circle the stricken Hobbits, singing at them mercilessly.
O! Why are you dawdling, when the race needs a-winning?
The cylinder‘s shaking! The dynamo‘s breaking!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly! The rally is jolly!
Ha! ha!
But, as they sang their quaint song, the Elves began to attend to the engine, hammering here and cranking there, uniting the broken mass of metal with their shockingly twee melody.
O! Where are you going, with gears all a-grinding?
No knowing, no knowing what makes Mister Baggins,
And Frodo go so slow,
No time now to tarry, here down in the rally
Ha! ha!
And, as the Hobbits watched, the engine began to pull itself back together, brought back to life by the woefully whimsical song. Before long, it was as good as new, gleaming and sparkling under the glow of Elven faces.
O! Will you be winners, or will you be losers?
Your chances decreasing, your lead disappearing!
To lose would be folly, to win would be jolly,
So hurry and hasten! Now suitably chastened,
By our tune
Ha! ha!
The gags and ropes were removed from the Hobbits and one of the Elves addressed them.
“Quick now, my little friends,” he said in a voice so light and airy that was almost too much to bear. “You must be on your way.”
“But … why …?” spluttered Bilbo.
“Elrond sent us,” the Elf replied, forestalling Bilbo’s confused questions. “He has a lot of money riding on this, you know. So come now, make haste and don’t disappoint him.”
“But why did you bind and gag us?” asked Frodo.
“Ha! Ha!” the Elf cried, and the Hobbits steeled themselves, fearing another distressingly droll song. “Would you have let us anywhere near the engine if you had heard us singing first?”
“Point taken,” nodded Bilbo.
“Now be off with you,” laughed the Elf. “You have a race to win!”
And with that, the Elven host departed, leaving the mobile Hobbit home to trundle on
North West towards the Havens.