In Which Gandalf Gets a Headache
"But I have so little of any of these things. You are wise and powerful. Will you not take the Ring?" Frodo held the small golden band before the grey wizard, his small hand steady in offering.
"No!" cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. "But then…" His eyes glazed over as the Ring's power began to grasp him. He stared at the Ring with morbid fascination. Yes…yes. Here Frodo, I'll take that my lad. I will have much need of it before this is over," and he extended his hand to take the Ring.
Aghast, Frodo pulled away, clutching his burden to his chest and pointing an accusing finger at the old family friend. His eyes filled with hobbity indignation. "Nay, fiend! It is mine; you cannot have it!" He began backing away.
Gandalf followed in confusion. "But you just offered it to me," he protested and groaned as he banged his head against one of the rafters. He could feel a headache coming on, and it made him irritable. Irritable wizards are never a good thing.
"You were supposed to politely turn the offer down," Frodo explained, steadily backing himself into a corner. "It's the polite thing to do. (Hobbits are so very bent on manners, it can be frightening.) "Or at the very least, you could get all angry and grumpy, and yell something drastic like, 'DON'T, tempt me further!'"
"Absolute nonsense," Gandalf grumbled; Frodo was tempting him to do something very drastic indeed. "Here we discuss the fate of Middle Earth, and the topic of manners comes to the forefront. Hobbits really are amazing creatures. Now, Frodo, hand over that Ring." He put on his best commanding wizard voice and seemed to grow in size, towering over the small hobbit.
"Nooo! It's mine! My precious!" Frodo looked to run, and found that he was trapped between the wall and the table. He grasped the Ring and smirked cheekily at Gandalf as he prepared to slip it on his finger.
"Oh no, you don't," Gandalf saw this, and with a quickness that belied his appearance, raised his staff and pointed it at Frodo. The end glowed with a blinding white light. "Turnieth Frodocus flinto ai chairus!" his voice rumbled like thunder; the light from his staff exploded outwards and enveloped Frodo.
When the air cleared, Frodo was nowhere to be seen. In his place, there sat an elegantly-carved, hobbit-sized, three-legged stool. Two pine knots stared up at the wizard like baleful eyes. (And in a galaxy far, far away, a thousand fan girls screamed in agony.)
"Don't look at me that way," Gandalf harrumphed. "Never meddle in the affairs of wizards, and you asked for it, angering a wizard like that." He was feeling a little guilty for being so quick to anger, but it was part of his job description, after all.
A shriek erupted from the bushes outside, and Sam leapt through the window. Gandalf whirled at the unexpected clatter and consequently slammed into another rafter. "Confound it, Samwise Gamgee!" he cried as he nursed the growing bruise.
"You've turned Mister Frodo into a stool, bless 'is heart," Sam was close to tears, hugging his former master. Gandalf ignored the dwarfish hammering in his head and pulled Sam off the floor. Then he bristled his bushy eyebrows in an extremely threatening manner.
"Have you been eavesdropping?"
"Me? Dropping eaves?" Sam blanched. ""No, sir, I've been trimming the bushes." His eyes widened in terror when Gandalf leaned closer to him, and he pleaded, "Please, sir, don't turn me into anything, unnatural-like."
Gandalf pondered him with all the gravity the Maia could muster. Trimming bushes at night? Hobbits couldn't tell a lie to save their lives. "No? I've thought of a better use for you. Get packed. You're coming along as the new Ring-Lord's chef. I get so very tired of trail mix and warg-jerky. Even wizards have their limits."
"New Ring-Lord?" Sam asked weakly as Gandalf turned away.
"We've got a long, hard ride ahead of us," Gandalf swept the Ring off the table and into his hand. From there, the Ring went into his extra tobacco pouch on his belt. He glanced at Frodo-chair and patted it cheerfully. "Don't worry, Samwise; your master will be fine. Perhaps I'll change him back after we've overthrown the Dark Lord."
"Overthrown the Dark Lord?" Sam repeated faintly, but Gandalf was already out the door. Sam cast one sad, regretful look at Frodo-chair and then ducked out after the wizard.
Why a chair? Frodo bemoaned as he sat alone in the quiet kitchen of Bag End. Why would Gandalf make me a chair? If he could have, he would have sniffed, loudly. Then the unquenchable optimism of hobbits began to shine through. No time like the present to work on my riddling skills. What was that one Bilbo used against the creature Gollum? Oh yes, Two Legs sat on Three Legs, and so on… Two Legs has to be a hobbit, or a man. Three Legs…hmmm… What has three legs?
Fortunately for Frodo, the riddle kept him occupied for some time, and the hours of the first day passed fairly quickly. Not so fortunately, the rest of the days did not go so quickly.
As you can probably tell, this is going to be a humorous take (or attempt to be) on a mix of the books and the movies. I began this a couple years earlier and came back to finish it. I have only one short chapter left to still write, so this will be regularly updated, have no fear. Read and review.