Life As Usual (NOT)
King Aragorn II Elessar is holding court, andas usual, it calls for tremendous upheaval in the form of a completely civil political debate (which is more aptly described by a certain Dwarf as a 'Mahal-darned brawl to death'), a review of the affairs of Gondor, a most wonderful kingdom which is certainly not, as proclaimed by its steward, 'A place full of Void-cursed Dragon Filth which can bloody well go to the wargs', and finally, a meeting with the truly charming Queen Arwen (The Fact that the King was heard saying that he regrets his marriage owing to how scary his wife can be is to be dismissed as a blasphemous rumour).
Eru, however, seems to have other plans. Slightly envious of a late lamented (not) Dark Lord, the Great Deity intends to create his own masterpiece, the One Migraine to Rule Them All.
Now, to find a suitable head to force it on…
"Grrrnnnaaaaggghhhh!"
Lord Tiucacas, Chief Counsellor to his majesty the King, looked on in puzzlement as King Aragorn convulsed in a most unlordly manner before falling down from the throne onto the steps. It seemed as if a fit had come upon the King, for he started banging his head constantly on the marble steps.
All the courtiers, ever ready to follow the King in each and every venture, all got up from their thrones, and started smashing their heads against the floor in a gesture of obeisance.
For a gesture of appeasement, this seemed to only aggravate the King, for the self-ordained smashing of the Royal head continued with greater energy and fervour than before.
An observer would notice that a few, however, remained seated, their faces in varying stages of burial in their palms. Even in this company there was an exception, and that exception was lying comfortably back in a special reclining throne designed by his people, able to shift back into most comfortable positions on need.
A few idle strands of his bejewelled beard flew about with every intake of breath. A placid smile was on his lips.
At that moment, a certain Elf who happened to be the prince of Ithilien and another place once known as Eryn Lasgalen, decided that the exception no longer needed to be an exception. He rose, and his hand momentarily ceased its most noble duty of burying its owner's face to complete the equally noble pursuit of landing an absolutely exquisite smack across the sleeping courtier's face.
Gimli the Dwarf reacted rather quicker than usual, and at in the next moment, Legolas found himself on the floor, an axe at his throat. To his credit, his knife was also at his assailant's throat.
"Watch it, Laddie. No one, no one I say, interrupts the sleep of a dwarf!"
"Except me, it would seem." Legolas tried a fabulous smile.
Gimli tried to think up a retort, but relented, and got off his friend's body. This day was driving them all mad.
"Gimli, my friend, my brother in arms, would that this day ceases its torment of my poor soul!" said Legolas fabulously.
"Yer stupid poetry isn't goin' tae make it any better so shut up, laddie!"
Legolas looked mildly offended for a second- however, it was just a second. The Elf prince always looked fabulous.
"Alas that a day would come when thou wouldst insult me so, my dearest friend! I thought I should come to a time of peace, of plenty, of prosperity, after the destruction of the forces of… well… destruction!" said Legolas, even more fabulously.
Gimli had decided to simply start smashing his head against the floor like the others.
After this abrupt end to the conversation, Tiucacas, thinking himself brave enough, hazarded a discussion with the King.
"Pardon. Me. My. Lord. But. As. Important. As. These. Activities. Are. Should. We. Not. Get. To. Discussing. The. Affairs. Of. The. Kingdom?" he asked in between the head-smashing on the floor.
For a second, Aragorn stopped banging his head on the floor. He looked above Tiucacas, and a sudden smile came to his face. Before the Chief Counsellor could comprehend anything, something very large and very painful had made contact with his head.
"Fathead" muttered Faramir with contempt, kicking the corpse away with his foot. He had hoped not to kill him, but when one used Lord Sauron's old mace, salvaged from Barad-dûr's ruins, there tended to be one and only one outcome.
"Indeed he was." said Aragorn, getting up, prompting a very loud sigh of relief from the court which also got up.
Lord Tiucacas, wishing others to think him intelligent, had decided to use an elvish name. Of course, knowing nothing of Sindarin or Quenya (although he did know the odd bit of Black Speech), he had had to pick it up.
Queen Arwen tended to use this word extensively, and surely a word coming from one as graceful as her would have the same grace, he reasoned. The fact that it meant 'Thick skull' was lost on him.
"So tell me, my friend, what of the political meeting? How many casualties were there today?" asked the King.
"Oh, precisely 56,443."
"Come, my friend, surely not that many?! We do not even have- what was it- 443 counsellors, now that you mention it."
"Oh, no, My King, it is just that I am experimenting a little with my Morgûl necromancy. Fascinating things, those spellbooks and relics I found in the ruins. I believe I am rather competent in the art of reanimation, now. I think I shall be able to move onto Soul-leeching rather quickly."
"So, I take it that you mean to say… You killed the counsellors, reanimated them, and killed them again."
"Precisely 1731 times. Of course, I had to stop reanimating some corpses when they were completely obliterated, but I think I got the job done satisfactorily."
"Brilliant! Just what those lunatics needed, I think. I swear by Eru if I heard another round of 'Go to war with Rhûn', 'Trade Agreement with Harad', 'Reclaim Angmar' and the like, I would have abdicated and gone off to re-establish Mordor- but thanks to you, I think I can live another day."
"All in a steward's duty, King. Normally they fight with a fervour comparable to raging Mûmaks, but this time I thought I could forestall the brawl by simply killing them myself."
"Hmm. I am no expert, Faramir, but seeing what our dear departed Dark Lord's weapon did to Lord Fathead here, I presume you used another implement?"
"I used Samwise Gamgee's rusty cooking spoon, my lord."
Aragorn suddenly decided that Faramir was much scarier than he looked and immediately demoted him from steward.
"Oh, come on now! You cannot possibly…"
"And I promote you to the position of Official Dread Enforcer."
Faramir licked his lips in anticipation. He would like this job.
"AAAARRRRAAAAAAGOOOOORRRRRNNNNNNNNN!" came a screech that would put the most verbose rhetorician among the Nazgûl to shame.
The King groaned, replied: "Yes, my most beautiful Queen Arwen" and immediately resumed smashing his head against the floor.
"WOULD YOU CARE TO TEACH OUR SON SOME MANNERS, YOU SPOILED BRAT!"
"I thought you decided to take his, um, education into your own hand, judging I was unfit for the job?"
"NONSENSE! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE YOUR WIFE OF…"
"Peace, my love. You are sublime and perfect in all things whereas I, but a mortal, cannot hope to be. Happy?"
"That is admittedly better."
She emerged then, striding regally down from the stairs. Aragorn rushed up from the throne and went to kiss her.
"DON'T. YOU. DARE." said Arwen. Aragorn immediately knelt down and settled for kissing her hand instead.
"What is it, my love? What has Eldarion got up to?"
Arwen ignored him and strode to Aragorn's throne, settling herself. Aragorn went to sit beside her, but at her steely glare he moved to Lord Ticuacas' recently-vacated seat.
"Now, my love…"
"Grrrrr!"
"Sorry, my Queen- what is the matter with our precious son?"
"You do realize we must have this discussion in private?"
"B-but you just came here, settled yourself on MY throne, and…"
"Oh, you clueless fool, just dismiss the court! A King has the power to do that!"
"B-but I can't… My friends…"
"Well then, I'll do it for you! GET OUT OF HERE, THE LOT OF YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME? OUT, OUT, OUT!"
The Court hurriedly obeyed, of course venturing to the lower level. There were some openings which allowed sound to filter out and were just perfect for eavesdropping.
Aragorn looked at Arwen, and was spared embarrassment as she began.
"Our precious little bundle of joy has taken over Gondor's entire sweet and snack industry."
She said this with a hint of annoyance, and a wealth of fondness. Eldarion was one of the few people who could melt the steely glare of Aragorn's formidable wife.
Aragorn's reaction was somewhat different.
"WHAAAAATTTT?"
"Oh, you can't blame me. Not after he threatened to throw a temper tantrum. I just knew you would not wish to suffer through one of those…"
Aragorn scowled. He knew perfectly well Arwen was the one who wouldn't want to suffer through one of those.
"… So I issued a royal edict that control of the snack industry would go over to Eldarion."
Aragorn simply shook his head sadly. Only Gandalf could save his poor boy's teeth now.
"Can I call the court back in, my l-sorry, Queen?"
"Yes, yes, you may." She said dismissively.
"Alright, all of you can…" he saw the entirety of the eavesdropping court shuffling in at that moment.
"…come back in." he finished lamely.
"Well, now to finally get some work done! Where's our new record-keeper?"
"Here, my liege." came an eerily-flat voice. Aragorn looked behind him and jumped, promptly falling onto the floor.
That would be the obvious reaction when one sees a Nazgûl behind oneself, at a spot one could have sworn was occupied by nothing but air.
"By the nightly activities of Eärendil and Elwing, who are you?"
The Nazgûl sniffed, and said irritably: "Who am I? Well, no one asks Glorfindel that question, do they? Of course, they all know 'Handsome, Charming Glorfindel' but what about poor Erestor? Oh, no, Glorfindel this and Glorfindel that, whereas Erestor is but a nobody. Erestor gets all the work accomplished, and who gets the credit? Glorfindel. Erestor keeps Imladris functioning, and what is it known for? Glorfindel. To Udûn with Glorfindel!"
Aragorn was getting more and more confused by the second.
"Kind sir, would you care to explain WHAT THE BLOODY ORC-FILTH is going on?"
The Nazgûl sniffed again, now even more offended.
Faramir decided he'd had enough and summoned a mighty Morgûl-tornado, which advanced upon the Nazgûl and blew his hood off his face.
They could see the chiselled features of a face which was a study in annoyance, glaring stolidly at the King.
"Erestor! Oh Eru, I did not know you had started working here! What's up with the Nazgûl cloak?"
Erestor shrugged, and said: "Oh, I thought it gives me a dignified appearance. You know, I did need some distinguishing features so that people get to know I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH GLORFINDEL."
"Well, since you are our new record-keeper, as your King I order you to show forth the records of Gondor's sweet and snack industry."
Erestor whipped out a heavy black register out of thin air (he was rather good at that particular conjuration). He flipped to the appropriate page, and said: "Hmm, let's see. This past week, records indicate that production has risen by a total of 123% owing to certain threats made by the new proprietor, and sales have fallen by 99.99% owing to consumption by the aforementioned proprietor."
"SWEET ERU, HE ATE THAT MANY?!" roared Aragorn. Erestor closed the book, unconcerned.
"Erestor, please…"
"Actually, my King, I came to submit my resignation. Lord Námo of Mandos has offered rather a lucrative job opportunity at Mandos, and I cannot contain my excitement to begin." Erestor said, the epitome of boredom.
Aragorn shook his head to and fro. He had a rather good hunch about what Mandos' job offer involved.
"I take it that Glorfindel had actually escaped Mandos illegally and this job confers the duty of his capture unto you?"
"Precisely."
"Very well, you may go." said Aragorn. There was nothing he could do to stop Erestor getting at Glorfindel.
Erestor disappeared into thin air.
Aragorn really needed Gandalf right then.
"Any news of Gandalf, anyone?"
They all knew that Gandalf was supposed to go to the Undying Lands, but he had told his lord Manwë that he had 'disinclined to acquiesce to his request' and promptly disappeared somewhere.
"Er, umm, I may have, er, some news of him, my lord." hazarded Lord Herumor, counsellor for Rhûn and Harad.
Herumor, once a Servant of Sauron, was quite possibly the most level-headed of the crackpots Aragorn liked to refer to as his 'courtiers'.
"Yes. Herumor."
"Well, the- the people speak of the new captain of the Corsairs of Umbar. The scourge of the seas. Such is his reign of terror that the entire haven of Umbar evacuated on sight of his dread vessel, 'The White-and-definitely-not-Black Pearl".
"Yes, well how is this in any way related to our old friend?"
"Um, well, my King, he was heard uttering these words to a certain massive octopus-monster…"
"A massive sea monster?!"
"Yes, my lord- the easterlings call it the Khrakk'enn, meaning sea-monster. Personally, I have reason to believe it is one of Lord Ulmo's 'experiments' and a dear pet who one day drifted away towards Middle-earth."'
"Shocking. Well, what did the captain say?"
"He was seen shouting 'Stop! You cannot pass. I am a servant of the evil Voodoo, wielder of the Aztec Gold of Cortez. The cold water will not avail you, fluffy pet of Ulmo! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"
Aragorn blanched. That did certainly sound like his old friend.
"And what happened?"
"Well, it, uh… passed. And then started following the ship around. It seems as if the captain has enforced his will over the creature, and it scourges the seas along with him. The waters have become such a place of dread, that the easterlings call it the 'Kharryb'bîan'."
"And what does that mean?"
"Place at which it all ends with doom." Herumor deadpanned.
"OH, GOOD GOD, NOT THAT AGAIN!" said Aragorn, flopping down onto the floor. The King did not particularly like references to the esteemed Lord Námo.
"Wait, my King, we haven't even read the letters!" said Faramir. Aragorn groaned.
THE LETTERS
The Court was settled and hushed. Aragorn was on his throne, looking utterly pathetic. Legolas was standing fabulously in front of the throne, opening the first scroll and reading fabulously: "To the Lord Faramir, from Éowyn."
Aragorn liked having Legolas read the letters dressed to the palace, since the elf was fabulous and had a fabulous voice. At the name of the sender, he stirred to attention.
"Wait just a second, Legolas." Legolas lowered the scroll fabulously.
"Faramir, what is it that happened with Éowyn? I cannot recall you telling me why she left here." said Aragorn. Faramir sighed mightily, and looked off into the distance.
"Very well, I shall tell you. 'Tis however, a tale for only your ears" he said, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
Everyone automatically crowded around Legolas, since his fabulous elven ears could detect any sound and he would tell them what Faramir was saying.
"As you know, my lord, Éowyn was far ahead of me on the subject of Morgûl sorcery. She got so proficient, in fact, that she went beyond the level of the spellbook we were using, and desired private tutoring lessons to completely master it. There was also the matter of no significant villain left in Middle-earth for her to slay, hence she got frustrated. One day, she came to me with a business card of one such private tutor, which I have here."
Faramir reproduced a card, and showed it to Aragorn, who frowned.
It had a portrait of a most stunningly handsome young man, flashing a toothy grin at the viewer, a dark lock of luscious hair hiding one eye. His hands were hidden behind his back.
'Borgoth Mauglir' read Aragorn suspiciously. It sounded very much like a name he had read in a certain historical document.
"Yes. The only fee he desired was conveyance from where he was to here."
"And where was he?"
"I know not; the card says he can be found in 'The Timeless Void that is Without'."
"And?"
"Well, I know of no place known as 'The Timeless Void', and therefore denied Éowyn her tutoring. Well, I should have expected it- she huffed, said a slew of rather nasty things about my father (which I wholeheartedly agree with), and left off to Eru-knows-where."
"Well, what can be done? Ah, I believe all we can do is commence the letter-reading. Continue, Legolas!" he ordered, and everyone crowded around the elf hurriedly shuffled back to their seats.
"To the Lord Faramir from Éowyn," he began fabulously:
"Dear Faramir, honey, it is with great regret that I proclaim myself to be breaking up with you. You see, darling Melkie just proposed to me today, and I couldn't believe it! Obviously, I had to accept, but unfortunately, it means breaking down the institution of my previous marriage.
I can't wait to tell you what an exciting time I'm having here. I went to Valinor, and with a little help from Lord Glorfindel, managed to acquire the key to the Door of Night from Mandos. I freed poor Melkie from that nasty chain holding him back in the void and we came back to Middle-earth.
Melkie has been wonderful, and he has taught me so much! I can make orcs from elves now! Isn't that wonderful? I can also snuff out lives with thoughts, if you're interested.
We are currently in the North of Middle-earth, but Melkie won't allow me to tell you exactly where. We're building our own nice little EVIL FORTRESS OF DOOM here, but Melkie has promised to make me a nice cosy bedchamber. I must say, Orcs make wonderful labourers.
I think I should take a new title for myself. 'Witch-Queen of Angband' sounds nice. Do you like it? Well, Melkie says he likes it, so your opinion doesn't really matter.
Your (former) love, Éowyn
Faramir was lying prostrate on the ground. He was quite dead.
Aragorn was dumbstruck, but someone had blessed him with a mithril-mine of patience that way, and said: "With a heavy heart, I announce the death of Lord Faramir, the Steward and Dread-Enforcer. Is there anybody who would like to take up the former position?"
Silence.
Aragorn sighed. "Is there anyone who would like to assume the latter position?"
The Court erupted into a brawl to get to the throne (and Sauron's mace). Aragorn looked away, not wishing to see his friends fight.
"That'll be me, wee lad" came a gruff voice, and Aragorn turned his head to look at Gimli, holding aloft Sauron's mace, a few bloody corpses strewn on the floor.
"Fine. Gimli, son of Glóin, I name you official Dread Enforcer." A few clapped politely, and Legolas clapped fabulously.
"Yes, yes, that's enough. And now for the second letter."
Legolas coughed fabulously and took the second letter up. It was enclosed within an envelope. There was no sender's address. He opened the envelope, and out came a slate which was flickering with a blue light. The light flickered brighter, and suddenly, letters appeared on the slate.
"To the Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur who sits on my rightful throne" began Legolas. Aragorn instantly looked up. There was only one person who could refer to him that way.
"First of all, my thanks for ousting me from Mordor, which was but a petty little kingdom. It did land me in a most wonderful Galaxy far, far away. I received an introduction to the marvels of 'Tékh'nøller'jee' and now have a truly admirable weapon.
I finally have a competent apprentice (though his audible breaths often unsettle me) and, most of all, can shoot lightning out of my fingertips (my childhood dream under Aulë). I can kill whoever I want, whatever I want with impunity. I have a very nice little mechanism I just constructed (apparently the third of its kind) which I intend to use as soon as possible.
I think Mandos will like it, since it is wholly a thing that brings DOOM. I can choke people with thoughts in an instant- let me demonstrate-"
Everyone was on the floor, gasping for breath. Something invisible had just gotten hold of their throats. Legolas got up, and nervously started reading once again- perhaps a little less fabulously.
"And I think I am finally, truly happy.
I am not the greatest conversationalist, so let me get to the point. Surrender, or die. Wait, actually even if you surrender, you'll die. Just less painfully.
Valinor burns as we speak. I have thrown the Valar out of their realm, and have brought them to my Star-Destroyer, where they are grovelling at my feet. Middle-earth is finally mine, and as the eminent Lord Námo Mandos predicted, it has all ended in DOOM.
Yours Admirably,
Lord Darth Mairon, formerly Sauron, The Sith Emperor
PS: My apprentice Lord Darth Vader finds your lack of sanity disturbing.
PPS: My other new apprentice, Lord Darth Thranduil, requests the one named Legolas to 'Get out of there before he blows you to smithereens'.
"What a load of Eru-darned Balrog Excrement!" roared Aragorn.
"Legolas, immediately send the reply- "SHUT UP" to whoever sent this letter."
"Um, my old friend, actually this sort of- dropped down from that large and extremely ominous second moon that's just appeared in the sky. I don't know how to send it back."
Aragorn immediately strode up to the courtyard of the White Tree of Gondor, and saw that there was indeed a very ominous-looking second moon in the sky. There were also some equally ominous triangular objects around it. He let loose a mighty sigh.
"If any messenger comes, tell him to inform this 'Lord Darth' Mairon that I have abdicated. Legolas, I believe it's time for us to go for a little hunting trip.
"Oh, yes!" said Legolas, perking up immediately.
"Oh, NOOOOOOOO! NOT ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE!" yelled Námo Mandos from where he was grovelling at Darth Sauron's feet.
"What's up with him?" asked the bemused Galactic Emperor.
"That's it! I'VE BLOODY WELL HAD ENOUGH!" yelled the Doomsman. In one second, Sauron had flopped down, dead. In another, all the officials on the Star Destroyer flopped down dead (except Vader and Thranduil, who were too iconic to kill).
Námo Mandos had finally given in. Thought after thought issued from his mind, and Morgoth flopped dead. Éowyn had her memory erased. Faramir was brought back to life. Aragorn and Legolas both swooned down in fainting fits, now unable to hunt.
The Doomsman went forth and smashed his boot into Manwë's face. The Elder King looked up from where he was grovelling and said "What didst thou do that for?!"
"Someone has to get things done around here, you bird-brain" said the Doomsman, and in a moment, all the other Valar were on a restored Valinor, and Sauron's star-destroyers were exploding high above.
Finally, the Doomsman sent a sleeping spell over to the whole court in Gondor, having somehow rescued the day. He headed purposefully to Vairë's chambers. After all, a good Doomsman must tuck his wife into bed- in a certain way.
This little one-shot was inspired by the works of Erestor. Please check out her stories. I am quite convinced she wrote the best parody/humour fics on FFnet.
Now to explain the Silmarillion references:
Mahal- The name the dwarves gave to Aulë, their patron Vala.
Valar- Practically gods. Tolkien preferred to refer to them as Demiurges.
Aulë- The Smith of the Valar. Maker of the dwarves. Sauron's former master.
Manwë- The King of the Valar. He's the lord of winds, and certainly NOT a birdbrain (although he did create the eagles). Brother of Melkor.
Morgoth Bauglir- Formerly Melkor. Once greatest of the Valar. He became the first Dark Lord, and corrupted Sauron to his service. Brother of Manwë.
Námo- Doomsman of the Valar. I guess 'Judge' is a better term for him. Lord of Doom and my favourite character.
Mandos- The Halls in which Námo dwells. He is often called Mandos after his halls.
Mairon- Sauron's former name under Aulë. Means 'The Admirable'.
Eärendil and Elwing: Parents of Elrond.
Angband- Morgoth's First Age Fortress.