Can't you just see Elrond at family gatherings? He's old, crotchety, and hard of hearing—one of those veterans who loves recounting his wartime exploits. "Did I ever tell you about the war with Sauron?" he asks, and the grandchildren roll their eyes, because they know very well what's coming. This story has been told at every holiday meal for a thousand years, and the tradition is likely to continue for another thousand.

Ari, a restless boy who is too much like his father, begins muttering to himself irritably. "Yes, we know, Grandpa. Men are weak. Isildur didn't destroy the ring when he had the chance. We've only heard this story a billion times."

"What's that, sonny?" asks Elrond, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Didn't quite catch what you said."

"Nothing, Grandpa," the boy sighs, pushing the sweet potatoes around his plate with a fork. "I was just saying how much I wanted to hear about Sauron and the ring."

Elrond nods, satisfied with this response. "Glad to hear it, son. Your father played a minor role in the story, so I'm sure you'll want to listen closely."

Just then, Arwen notices that the ham on her father's plate is untouched. "Come on, Dad," she says patiently. "You've got to eat."

Elrond snaps at her. "I'll eat when I'm ready, missy. Was there time for eating when the shadow of Sauron spread over the land? Was there time for eating when I sent the fellowship off to Mordor? I don't think so. What if Gandalf had taken a rest instead of coming to the rescue at Helm's Deep? What if he had said to himself, 'Hmm. Gotta go save Middle Earth. But I think I'll have me some lembas bread first.' The whole world would be speaking Sauron-ese, I tell you. . . ."

Why Tolkien never wrote this story is a mystery.

Tags: movies