It was a bright and sunny afternoon on a random day in Gondor. Denethor pushed his plate away, smirked at the crash it made as it hit the floor, and looked at the clock. Golly, he had finished his lunch half-an-hour early! What to do with the time? He rubbed his hands gleefully as he thought.
AH! The Steward snapped his fingers, then pulled open a random desk drawer and removed some cans of Play-Doh and a large box. He put all his papers on the floor and spread the Play-Doh over his desk, using the White Rod to roll it out. Then he opened the box. It was full of wooden matches. Denethor placed the matches close together in the Play-Doh and lit one with a candle. There was a tremendous ' WHOOSH' sound and an impressive sheet of flame covered his desk as the matches lit each other. Denethor looked at the burning stumps and snickered.
He then cleaned his desk and looked at the clock. Still plenty of time. As he wondered what to do next, his gaze fell on one of the staues that lined the room. Hmm... He rummaged in a desk drawer.
A few minutes later the grand old images were all holding signs that read things like 'Please Do Not Feed the Steward', 'Kick Me', 'Do You Get Enough Fiber In Your Diet?' and 'I Rock'.
The Steward was admiring his handiwork when he heard footsteps. Lunch was over, the Lackeys were coming back! He scurried back to his desk and tried to look busy and important. Ecthelion had drilled into him that he must always remember his 'Three 'I's' : Intimidating, Important, and Inaccessable, otherwise known as 'Busy'. While Denethor mused on this and looked important, the Lackeys (who are too insignifigant to be given actual titles) cleaned up the unfortunate plate and handed him a stack of papers to sign. Papers! Denethor liked signing papers. Or not signing, if he felt particularly sadistic. The amount of trouble he could cause other people by merely scribbling his name was amazing. But that wasn't the only reason. He got to use his Seals. Denethor had an impressive collection of Official Seals and used them at every possible opportunity. One had a smiley face and the words 'I'm the Steward!' It was used on days when he felt particularly cheerful. Then there was the one he used on documents to other countries. It said ' Official Seal to Foreign Lands' around the top, and in the center big bold letters read 'Up Yours You Sorry Sods'. Denethor was fond of that one. It could have been the reason for the constant war with Harad, but he didn't care.
But today there were no foreign documents to sign, it was all local matters, so Denethor settled on a seal that had a tongue on it and the words 'I Dig the Stones'. This was one of his favorites because it caused so much confusion. Nobody knew what it meant, though there was a lot of speculation. The most prevalent theory was that it meant Denethor supported Dwarves' Rights, but there were no Dwarves in Gondor, so the meaning remained ambiguous to everybody but the Steward, and he wasn't telling.
So with visions of puzzled underlings dancing in his head, Denethor happily signed the documents and handed them back to the Lackey. Then he glanced at the clock. Oh my! Almost time for the big international trade meeting! Denethor hurried to the conference room and saw with relief that he was the first one there. He put on his sooper-kewl spy shades and checked the doors. No one was coming. Good. He whipped a tube of Crazy-Glue out of his pocket and applied it's contents liberally to the Emissary from Harad's chair. No, it wasn't good diplomatic policy, but hey, Gondor and Harad had been enemies for thousands of years, that wasn't going to change in the next few days, and he never liked this particular guy anyway.
Just then he heard voices in the hall. The delegates were coming! Denethor quickly capped the glue and put it and the sunglasses in his pocket while hurrying to his seat. He sat down, folded his hands on the table, and reminded himself of the three 'I's'.
The first delegate came in. 'Hello, Denethor,' he said.
'Look Intimidating,' Denethor thought.
'Good afternoon, Denethor,' said the second delegate.
'Look Important,' Denethor thought.
''How do you do, Denethor?' said the third delegate.
'Look Inaccessable,' Denethor thought.
'I see you still haven't gotten a haircut,' said Bob from Harad.
'You are an ignorant hick,' said Denethor, and the trade meeting began.
A complete account of the meeting would be much too long to include here, so let it suffice to say that it went quite well, and many things were traded: insults, obscene gestures, fisticuffs. Denethor was a bit disappointed at the lack of death threats (with the exception of Bob from Harad) but consoled himself with the thought that there was always another day.
When all the delegates had left, the Steward went down to the kitchen for a snack and practiced his three 'I's on his chocolate-chip cookies. If he could intimidate a cookie, he could intimidate anything. One particularly stubborn treat didn't look frightened, so Denethor smashed it with a rolling pin before eating it.
With that enjoyable exercise completed, Denethor headed back to his desk. The Lackeys probably had lots of Important Messages for his attention.
Yes, they did. Denethor had just sat down in his chair when the Lackeys came rushing over.
'Lord Steward, there are Important Messages for you,' they said.
Denethor leaned his elbows on his desk and listened.
'Harad has declared war for the third time this week. But they say they mean it this time!'
'Faramir says that Anborn says that the Ithillien Rangers say that the rest of the population thinks you shouldn't wear black so much.'
'Someone TP'd the Argonath!'
And so it went, while Denethor leaned on his elbows and wondered if raw eggs were flammable or not. Finally the Lackeys ran out of Important Messages. 'Thank you,' said Denethor. 'I'll get right on those.'
Late that night, the good citizens of Minas Tirith looked up to see a strange light flickering in a window high up in the Citadel.
'The Steward is wrestling with the Dark One in his thoughts,' they said in awe.
Denethor sat all alone high in the Citadel, his face lit by an eerie light. The images before him brought a disturbing look of satisfaction to his eyes. Dozens of little origami boats all labeled 'Important' floated in the bathtub, burning merrily. Denethor poked one of them with his toothbrush and snickered.