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And so it was as so it was so as we rode from Isengard in triumph, singing songs and riding our horses.  Then did the King Thèoden, say, ‘So be it!  The wicked Saramn is dead, and Rohan is safe!  Hurrah!’ and everyone cheered cheerfully.

Then did we do as so it was as was to be done and did ride from Edoras with the host of the Rohirrim.  Mighty and glorious was the host as they rode forth to war, to fell deeds, and to the defence of Gondor!  Shining was our steel in the shiny sun, and our banners rippled in the wind when the wind blew, which was sometimes, and even as we went did we

‘You must,’ I said.

‘Nay,’ replied Mr Elessar, ‘I am not worthy.’

Then King Théoden got up.  ‘Very well then,’ he said oldly.  ‘What should we do now, hmm?’

Now I will tell you what happened next.¹

So, me and Princess Éowyn and Mr Elessar and all the Rangers and hobbits had just arrived at Isengard, where the army of Rohan were besieging the wicked White Wizard Aruman,² and found out that the King had been poisoned, which was quite bad.

So it was that, with the fair Princess Éowyn by my side, I departed from the dread Golden Wood with life and sanity intact, a great feat indeed by the accounting of any man.  A little bit later, we came back to the Ranger camp by Loopy Creek, where still those lowly ruffians feasted and partied, revelling about the place and enjoying their loot.

So off I went to the Golden Wood.  But as I went, my mind was spinning with thoughts, my head whirling with thoughts.  Was Mr Elessar really the long lost king of Gondor?¹  Had the Last Ring been kept hidden from all in the company of low and dirty thieves these past hundreds of years?²  These, and other thoughts like those ones, weighed heavy on my mind as I entered under the eaves of the Golden Wood.

‘Come’, said Mr Elessar, as he freed me from my bonds, ‘Sit, and I will tell you the sorry tale of how Boromir the Mighty was led by treachery and sorcery to his unhappy death.’

Early the next morn, I rose and departed from the inn, even as the sun rose.  I rode swift and true, heading towards Loopy Creek in the north, even as the wizard Mithrandir had counselled I should do.  I could but hope that I was going the right way, and that he wasn’t trying to lure me into a trap.

So I rode on, my heart weary with heaviness.  Boromir was dead, slain by some elfish plot, and yet I was no nearer to uncovering the truth of his strange dream.  My head ached with thoughts and worries, ached even as though it were so that I’d had many a drink the previous eve, even though I hadn’t, as I set forth once more on my epic journey.

So I set out on my epic journey, wandering hither and thither in search of Boromir, and the Last Ring, avoiding the wicked agents of the High Steward Denethor and the fell servants of King Sauron the Dark Lord.  It was without hope or chance of success that I set out on this desperate mission, yet set out I did, for is it not said that, ‘the wicked reap when the good man sleeps’?¹  And what gooder man is there than I?