Author's note: I posted this a long time ago before and it got deleted by the ppl. If you should happen to want to delete this story again, ppl, please contact me first and tell me what I need to change before removing it. Removing it will make me forget about this fic for months, like I did before. Thank you!
Warning: The following story was made in a bout of insanity and is not canon. If you do not like such lunacy, DO NOT READ!
Disclaimer: Sorry about this, Professor Tolkien.
A Strange Battle at Pelennor Fields
The Battle of Pelennor Fields was starting. Gandalf the White rode gallantly through the streets of Minas Tirith, shouting bravely to the soldiers. "Back to your posts! Prepare for battle!"
Skip on a few moment...
The orcs were coming. Desperately Gandalf galloped among the archers. "Shoot the trolls! Bring them down!"
But the arrows were not very effective. And towers were getting nearer and nearer...
So Gandalf got impatient. "Oh, what do I care if it goes against canon?!" He grabbed a bazooka (which was conveniently lying about for an unknown reason), aimed, and fired. The tower exploded and orcs flew screaming into the air. "Ah. Very good."
Taking his lead, the soldiers of Minas Tirith grabbed the machine guns that somehow materialized and started shooting. Orcs were dropping dead. Literally. Unfortunately, many Orcs managed to get near the walls, and so the stones were stained black with their blood. Not that it mattered; Denethor, as he sunk into his pride, greed, and the palantir, had fallen even more at the death of Boromir and had since been neglectful of the city's condition. The once white city was now a grey city, sooty with dust and smoke, filth and grime. The sewers were overflowing and clogged, abandoned carcasses from the butchers lay rotting with fruits and cabbages from the market, and the stink was so bad that many of its people had left more because of the unhealthy stench than because of the upcoming siege. Sauron had even reconsidered invading the city because it could be smelled all the way from Mordor. An epidemic was overdue in the unclean city.
So...back to the battle.
Suddenly, and very randomly, a strange-girl-who-is-typing-on-a-computer (guess who) popped in. "STOP!" She shouted. The soldiers paused. "I have a more creative way of killing the orcs and uruk-hai!" Grinning, she opened a random gate at the end of the field.
A colony of ravenous red ants streamed out and began attacking the orcs and uruk-hai. The girl laughed maniacally. Everyone eyed her uncertainly.
Pippin, who had come to see why the orcs were screaming, sighed and put his head in his hands. "This is what you get when the authoress gets a day off of school because of a so-called typhoon." (A/N: the sun is shining, and there is NO SCHOOL! MUHAHAHAHAHA!)
Then there was a shriek in the air. The Nazgûl were here.
Beside each person in Minas Tirith a pair of ear plugs appeared. So no matter how the Nazgûl screeched and screamed, it had no affect whatsoever. Eventually they got hoarse from all that screeching and screaming and stopped. Everyone took off their ear plugs and waved cheerily at the Nazgûl.
The girl grabbed a walkie-talkie. "Hi, Random Person #1? Bring in the fighter jets."
Suddenly, swooping out of the blue, came the US military!
They began to shoot at the Nazgûl! Whee!
Then a bunch of tanks appeared, and started shooting at the orcs! Yay!
By request of Gandalf the tanks and ants disappeared just in time for the Riders of Rohan to come and stampede and kill more orcs. Woohoo! Orc killing spree!
Suddenly there appeared on the horizon the fearful and terrible Southrons on their giant steeds. Haradrim and the like closed in also. Oliphants trumpeted and shook the earth. The Evil Men's cries rang through the air. Minas Tirith trembled.
"Reform the line!" cried Théoden. The Riders of Rohan lined up for battle. The horn sounded for the charge…and out of all the saddle bags dropped thousands upon thousands of mice!
The OOC horses, however, were not afraid. They took thing in stride. Quoting one horse that was present, "Ah well, at least I won't get trampled in this fanfic."
Faced with the invincible wave of squeaking mice the Oliphaunts panicked and threw the Southrons off their backs, who immediately died upon hitting the ground because of broken necks and heart attacks.
Then there was a horrifying shriek, and Théoden looked up to see one of the Nazgûl swooping down. Snatching the Lord of the Mark and Snowmane in its powerful jaws the hulking monster threw him upon the ground. The king of the Rohan had fallen.
Suddenly the scene freezes, as if someone had pressed the stop button on a remote control. The same girl previously mentioned walks out with a control in her hand. She grins, waves, and announces, "Hey, relax! In this fanfic, there will be no deaths…except for orcs, and trolls, and Nazgûl, and uruk-hai, and…OK, all the spawn of Mordor. Thank you…now back to reading." She presses the rewind button, and then the play button.
The REAL version:
Théoden was tired of being killed again and again by not only the book, but also by the people in the fanfic realm. So in protest he reached into his saddlebag, took out a rifle, and shot at the Nazgûl. Who promptly shrieked and flew out of range.
At this minute Eowyn was passing by. Seeing how her uncle's gun was starting to run out of bullets, she took another rifle, took aim, and shot the flying steed of the wraiths in the heart. Merry, who arrived a few minutes later, took out another rifle and shot the leader of the Nazgûl. With one final scream the Foul Beast crashed into a mumak and impaled itself on a tusk. It really wasn't the Ringwraith's lucky day. The Witch-King of Angmar was again shot by our talented marksman—er, woman—Eowyn, and then stamped on by the same wonderful mumak, who, getting the full blast of the wraith's death(like how Eowyn and Merry were injured in the canon LOTR) went lame and collapsed. Homer Simpson style Woohoo!
Théoden grinned. "I taught her that, I did," he said proudly.
Éomer, who was riding by (he'd just killed the Southron chieftain) snorted, "Yeah, sure. I taught her that."
"Nope. 'Twas me, and all of Rohan can account for it."
"If you taught her that, then I'm the King of Rohan."
"You are."
"What?!"
"Éomer, Éomer, the authoress may be stark raving mad right now but that doesn't mean that she's going to change things that drastically."
"She has..."
"Well, maybe she has gone and...made things easier for us, but it's the results that count, my son!"
"...I'm your nephew..."
"Just trying to make a point."
"But in the book and the movie I only become king because you die!"
"That can be easily remedied."
There was a flash of light, and Théoden disappeared. Éomer blinked.
"What the...Oww!"
"Now look what you've done! You've made him go away and just after I'd saved his life! My efforts are wasted!" Eowyn glared at her brother, painfully twisting his ear.
"Did you have to go and ruin things?" sighed Merry unhappily. "He was like a father to me! How could you do this to a poor, innocent (cough) hobbit?"
"Exactly! Now, thanks to you, I have no master!" Snowmane, who was suddenly gifted with speech, snorted.
"Oh, go away," snarled an irritated Eomer. As if being publicly embarrassed by your sister and a halfling isn't enough, a horse joins in! He thought in exasperation.
There was another flash of light. Snowmane disappeared, and was never again seen on Middle Earth. Yet green and long grew the grass on Snowmane's Howe. It is where she was last seen, and there lies a stone that says,
Snowmane
Faithfully she
Followed Théoden King
Swiftly
Those who passed by later on would look at the inscription, scratch their heads, and mentally make a note to teach the authoress proper haiku.
Meanwhile Éomer was given an ear-bashing by his sister.
"See? Now even Snowmane's gone! Why do you keep messing things up? Why? Why?" Eowyn started to hyperventilate.
"Eowyn? Are you all ri—Éowyn!" Éomer rushed forward as she fainted. At the same time Merry had a heart attack and also fainted—no wait, that's too feminine, sorry Merry. Um...oh! Merry passed out.
It was then, cradling his sister's limp body, that Éomer began to hate himself. A lust for blood possessed him. In his eyes shone the fierce light of battle. Slowly he stood.
A rabble of mindless orcs and the fighting Uruk-hai, whose shields were broad and spears were long, were battling near him. Éomer's eyes narrowed. They would not live to see another dawn.
Roaring he charged into the melee, waving his sword. The mindless orcs died of shock and fear at seeing their worst nightmare. The fighting Uruk-hai did not have time to lift their weapons, and were slaughtered. Well, looking back, their weapons wouldn't have helped anyways. Éomer, blinded by fury, bowled them all over. The Riders of Rohan wisely gave him a large berth of, oh, a mile or so. Easterlings, Southrons, Haradrim—all were cut down like wheat before a scythe.
Thus when Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and the Army of the Dead arrived all they had to do (apart from bringing down the last few mumakil and erm, controlling Éomer) was to clean up the battle scene. And while they were at it, they also went and scrubbed the flagstones of Minas Tirith, cleaned the sewers and streets, and burned all the rotting vegetables and carcasses. And the Dead finally fulfilled their oath to aid Gondor in its time of need...spring cleaning!
So, happy ending. The Battle of Pelennor Fields was won with few casualties. Minas Tirith became the White City once again. And the authoress finally has vented her mental illness, and will hopefully be able to calm down.
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Three guesses who that girl was...:D
So, reader, you are either laughing your head off, plain confused, or getting ready to flame me. gulps at sound of sharpening knives In any case, please review!
Oh, and I might be writing a second chapter…on either the Battle of Helms' Deep or the march on the Black Gates of Mordor. Or it could be a separate fic...we'll see.