|Mel Wong (chn_breathmint) wrote,|
@ 2002-12-02 03:55:00
|Music:||Radiohead - Everything In Its Right Place (live)|
LotR parody, written by yours truly.
It goes down better if you've read Good Omens.
Lord of the Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett.
It was a nice day.
All the days had been nice. There had been rather more than billions of them so far, and rain was uncommon this time of the year. But clouds massing east of Isengard suggested that a thunderstorm was on the way, and it was going to be a big one.
A wizard put his pipe between his teeth as the first drops fell.
"I'm sorry," he said politely. "What was it you were saying?"
"I said, that one went down like a lead balloon." said the other wizard.
"Oh. Yes." said the first wizard with the pipe, whose name was Gandalf the Gray.
"I think it was a bit of an under-reaction on my part, to be honest," said the other wizard. "I mean, first offense and leniency and everything. I can't see why you missed the events happening in the Shire, unless you must have been smoking too much of that hobbit weed."
"It can't be that bad," reasoned Gandalf, in the slightly concerned tones of one who can't see it either, and is worrying about it, "otherwise I wouldn't have noticed when Radagast came to see me. And why aren't you in white, come to think of it?"
"White? White cloth can be dyed, a white page can be overwritten. White light can be broken. And have you any idea how high my laundry bill is? White just shows all the muck and grime." said the other wizard, whose name was Saruman the White, although he was thinking of changing it now. White, he'd decided, was not his color...
"But it's no longer white, is it?," said Gandalf. "And you know, someone who breaks something just to see how it'd turn out is a plain bloody git. It's down to your basic, you know. Color. Nothing personal, Saruman the White."
"You've got to admit it's a bit of a pantomime, though," said Saruman. "I mean, a new Power is rising, and we can't really stand much against him, not with our old allies and all that rot. Not to mention, he provided me a new wardrobe as part of my new job benefits. Pretty good bargain, there. Maybe you could wear something other than gray."
"It's best not to talk like that, Saruman," said Gandalf. "I've heard speeches of that kind before, and they come straight out of Mordor."
They stood in embarrassed silence for a while, watching as fat drops of rain started to bruise the flowers.
Eventually, Saruman said, "You did find the Ring, didn't you? The one with the fiery writing on it."
"Er," said Gandalf. A guilty expression passed across his face, and then came back and camped there.
"You did, didn't you?" said Saruman. "It's supposed to flame like anything."
"It looked very impressive, I thought, with that Black Speech all over it."
"Yes, but. Well-"
"Lost it, have you?"
"Oh no! No, not exactly lost, more-"
Gandalf looked wretched. "If you must know," he said a trifle testily, "Bilbo gave it away."
Saruman stared at him.
"Well, I had to let him do it," said Gandalf, rubbing his hands distractedly. "Frodo looked so sad, poor thing, and he's lost Bilbo and all, and what with the vicious Black Riders and all out there, and the storm coming up, he's just a poor little hobbit, and I thought well, where's the harm so I just said look, if you stay in the Shire there's going to be an almighty row, but you might be needing to carry this ring to Rivendell, so here it is, now go to the Prancing Pony in Bree and await my word, and all, just do me a favor and don't let the Nazgul get you here."
He gave Saruman a worried grin.
"That was the best cause, wasn't it?"
"I'm not sure if you could have done anything stupider, hobbit weed or no," Saruman said sarcastically, lifting his staff and brandishing it menacingly at Gandalf.
"Oh, I do hope not," he said. "I really do hope that this may not prove to be one of the lighter matters," Gandalf said, before Saruman levitated him all the way to the top of Orthanc, after hitting him about a few times.
It was cold, wet and rainy up there, and Saruman came up to watch the rain for a while.
"Funny thing is," said Saruman, "I keep wondering if this whole Ruling Ring business was the point- I mean, Sauron seems really bent on getting his hands on it, and it winds up in the hands of a little hobbit from the Shire. I wonder if that whole palantir business was the smart thing to do."
The green meadow below was covered in crazed lines that glowed dimly in the miserable rain, the light of the furnaces below shining up the walls of the tower.
"Not really," said Gandalf, huddling against one of the stargazing pillars trying to keep out of the cold- Saruman wasn't quite known for his hospitality, come to think of it.
Saruman looked at the sky.
"No," he said, sobering up. "I suppose not."
Slate-black curtains tumbled over Isenguard. Thunder growled among the hills. The Uruk-Hai, freshly made, went about their usual business of lurking in the rain.
Far away near the Ford of Bruinen, a tiny gold trinket flickered momentarily among the wet trees. And then the screams of the Nazgul pierced the air.
It was going to be a dark and stormy night.
Inspired by his thread here, spread through Internet virus transmission, to this other thread here.
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