“It was all … a phantasm?” Elrond asked, incredulous, leaves stuck to his face where the drool had dried. “Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?” Frodo grinned. “His biggest and most successful spell! I’m sure he’ll be impossible now.” “If I let him live,” the dwarf grumbled sourly. Boromir tried to stand, then wobbled to the side of the courtyard and vomited over the rail. “What in the hell did he do to us?” he groaned. “I told you! A spell!” Frodo laughed. “Well, that and hallucinations brought on by pipefuls of Old Moldy Fermented Leaf!” “No dark wizard? No ring? No ghoulish little man?” Sam asked, rubbing his temples. “Nope. None of it. Just a dream.” “Why so grand, though? It’s a bit much even for Mithrandir!” Elrond spoke again, getting his sea legs at last. Galadriel giggled. “I do love a wizard mid-life crisis!” Someone had drawn a mustache on her with a Sharpie.