Title: Spike and the Ring of Doom
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. Sadly, I do still own my brain.
Once upon not-so-long-ago, in a land not so far away, there unlived a Bad
Vampire called Spike and his batty-as-a-broomstick sire-cum-girlfriend called
Drusilla-with-too-many-hyphens. She had heard a rumour about the One Ring of
Sauron, and decided that she wanted it.
As Spike would do anything for his Princess, he agreed and set out to get it for
her.
By some magical and rather boring arts, he tortured the way to Mordor out of a harmless (and rather dull) bysitter (the wizard concered was in a wheelchair, because Spike didn’t want to discriminate against the physically challanged, he himself being metabolically challanged), where thay found that Sauron’s Ring had been lost in Mount Doom.
Leaving Dru to discuss the latest fashions in lace-edged dripping-slime with
Shelob, he climbed the mountain and entered the cracks, even as Frodo had. Being
the careful sort of Big Bad, he lay down on the stone floor and peerer into the
fires.
Far below, he could see (and hear) Gollum as he continued to fall ever deeper,
the Ring still glittering in his hand.
Spike had come prepared for such an eventuality. He took from his pocket a large ball of fire-proff string, complete with a hook on the end. Letting it down in the crack, he proceeded to attepmt to dangle it into the Ring. Engrossed in this, he failed to notice when a figure appeared behind him.
The figure- a tall, strong man, armed with a sword- yelled at the bleached blond monstrosity before him, “Who do you think you are?”
Spike, ever one for plain speaking and more than a little startled, dropped
his string into the fires and, turning, answered, “Name’s Spike. You?”
“How dare you speak so to the King Aragorn,” (For it was he), “For that,
you are dead."
“yes. And so will you be.”
At such incrediable insolence- for Kingship had made Aragorn a little arrogant- the King strode forward (being the striding sort of chap). At this point, Spike prudently removed himself from between monarch and flames, and Aragorn fell over the edge. Our favorite peroided vampire escaped into the night again, trying to think of way to visit a jeweller and a warlock before seeing Dru again.
A little while later, the Lady Arwen happened to be passing, and she pulled her husband from the crack, where he had managed to find a ledge to hang and yell curses from.
Here endeth the Murky Brown Book of Sunnydale.
Moral: Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom is a good story. Ten-Fingered Spike and the Fire-proof String isn’t.