Discliamer: We do not own the Lord of the Rings. We do, however, own Gus the Gassy, who made hid debut appearance in Chapter 5 of another story we have co-authored, called The Downside to Being Steward, which is also on this pen-name. You don't have to read it to understand this story but it may help to understand a little of Gus' background. We do not mean offense to people who experiences large amounts of flatulence.
This story will be FOUR chapters long!
As Faramir, the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, and more recently, the White Tower, looked around the city of Osgiliath, all that met his eyes was death, destruction, and more death. His small force of soldiers was being massacred by the much larger force of the orcs of Mordor.
"My Lord, we can't hold out much longer!" Yelled one of Faramir's advisors. "Will you have us retreat to Minas Tirith?"
"No." Faramir said, calmly.
The advisor looked at his captain, who was normally very rational in these situations. "Sir?" He asked.
"We will not retreat. At least not yet." Faramir responded in that creepy overly-calm voice of his.
"But we're being over-run! We can't hold out much longer!" The advisor argued.
Faramir turned his head to look his advisor straight in the eye. The advisor grew even more worried upon seeing a mad glint in his captain's eyes. "Bring out the Secret Weapon." He said in his still-calm voice.
"Sir! Surely you don't mean-" The advisor said fearfully.
Faramir held up a hand to silence the man. "I do." He said. "Send for Gusuvius Gastricus Odorio Bodorion Pooticus Garlicus Gludios Olfacior Obolere."
The advisor trembled, fearfully. "But, sir! That would be suicide!" He exclaimed.
"Boromir…" Faramir started.
"May he rest in peace!" exclaimed all of the fighting Gondorians, and a few who lay dying, in eerie unison.
"…would have done it." Faramir finished.
The advisor sighed. This wasn't the first time Faramir had said this since his brother's lamentable death. "Very well…" He said, seeing that Faramir was lost to reason. He turned to a sweating messenger. "Steve, I'm sorry. For the second time in your life, you must bear a message to Gus the Gassy." Steve the Sweaty, as many called him, gulped and sweated profusely. "Tell him to make haste to Osgiliath," the advisor finished.
With that, Steve the Sweaty ran off to his horse, Pete the Perspiring and the pair galloped off to Minas Tirith, leaving a trail of sweat behind.
Faramir then turned to his advisor once more. "Bring me our cook." He said.
"But, sir! We're in the middle of a battle!" Said the advisor as he beheaded an orc to emphasize his point. "This is no time to be thinking about your stomach!"
"That's not what I want him for." Faramir said and then grunted as he parried a stab from an orc's sword and then stabbed the creature. "I need…" He paused. "… the 'Swordsman's Diet'." He said in a dramatic way.
"Oh, sir! We will not survive this!" the advisor cried in despair.
Faramir ignored this comment and as he continued to fight, he said, "Tell the cook to make all of the beans, cheese, onions, and garlic that he can."
A man grunted as he died.
"Oh, geez! That was the cook!" Faramir moaned as he killed the orc who had killed the cook. He then straightened up. "It's up to me, then! The fate of Gondor, and possibly of all Middle-Earth, rests in my culinary skills!" Faramir went off to find the stash of food that the now-deceased cook had hidden.
A pot of the food that made up the 'Swordsman's Diet' now lay simmering nearby Faramir.
Faramir then pulled out an old, used, and well-worn gas-mask. He stared at it in remembrance of its previous wearer, Boromir.
"Oh, brother!" He cried. "I wish you could be here, wearing this in my stead!" With that said, Faramir put on the gas mask in preparation to meet Gus the Gassy.
"Men of Gondor! Show your courage! Put on your gas-masks and prepare yourselves! They will not breach Osgiliath!" Faramir yelled in an attempt to rally the men. "It's what Boromir…"
"May he rest in peace!" exclaimed all of the fighting Gondorians, and a few who lay dying, in eerie unison.
"…would have done." Faramir finished. "FOR BOROMIR!" He cried.
"MAY HE REST IN PEACE!" all of the fighting Gondorians, and a few who lay dying, cried in eerie unison. All of them then put on their gas-masks.
At this point, they heard a horse's whinny and then the passing of wind in time to the footsteps of a man. Gus the Gassy, and his noble steed, Stu the Stinky, had arrived.
Gus walked up to Faramir. "Hey, Boromir." He said, not realizing that this was Faramir and that Boromir was actually floating somewhere in the middle of a river right now, deceased. "I see you still wear that gas-mask everywhere. You know, you don't need to wear that in battle. Orcs really don't smell that bad."
At this point, Faramir interrupted the senile ex-instructor of Boromir. "It's Faramir." He said. "And Boromir's dead."
"Dead!" Gus exclaimed. "How! When!"
Faramir sighed. This reminded him way too much of his conversation with Frodo. "He was killed by orcs."
"Well, if he had just followed my advice and followed my 'Swordsman's Diet' that wouldn't have happened!" Gus exclaimed and let a wind fly. The orcs surrounding the two of them fell to the ground, dead.
"Never mind that now, Gus." Faramir said, "Right now, I need you to eat this." He gestured to the pot of the 'Swordsman's Diet'
Gus smiled and passed wind. "Ah, the good ol' 'Swordsman's Diet'. You know, Faramir, there's still hope for you. Join me!" He said as he started to eat the contents of the pot.
Faramir looked revolted at the thought of dining with Gus and becoming Faramir the Flatulent. "I'll pass." He said, feeling the sting of the irony in his words.
Faramir joined his valiantly fighting men on the wall. "Come on, men! Have heart! Soon, this will all be over! Just hope that your gas-masks hold!"
Gus had finally finished eating.
"Gus!" Faramir cried. "Just like in the days of old, raise your mighty blade and send these orcs back into the foul abyss from whence they came!"
"Right! Coming!" Gus said as he ran up to join Faramir at the front of the line.
"Would you like do the honors of telling the men to charge, Gus?" Faramir asked.
"Of course!" Gus lifted up his arm, sending up a foul stench that killed many-an-orc nearby. "CHARGE!" Gus cried. At the same time, he ripped a big one.
Meanwhile at Minas Tirith…
Denethor stood in the city's gardens that overlooked Pelennor Fields and Osgiliath in the distance. At once, he heard a distant cry of, "CHARGE!" Then, he heard something akin to the Horn of Gondor being blown.
"MY SON!" He cried. "YOU HAVE RETURNED TO ME!"
Only then did the foul stench reach Denethor's nostrils, killing off all of the garden's lovely flowers. The Steward gagged and staggered at the stench and then he succumbed to it and fell to the ground, unconscious.
And back at Osgiliath…
All of the orcs assailing the city fell to the ground, dead. The men who had survived, for some had not properly put on their gas-masks, cheered at the magnificent victory. Then, over their cheers, they heard a noise. A noise that could only belong to one creature.
"NAZGUL!" Faramir cried. The men clapped their hands to their ears and began to wail as all of the nine Nazgul approached on their winged beasts. "GUS! TAKE THEM DOWN! RAISE YOUR ARMS!"
"Well," said Gus, "I don't know what good that'll do, but, okay…" Gus raised his arms in the air and let it be filled with his foul bodily odor. Then, he ripped another big one.
"Fools!" Cried the King of the Nazgul, "No living man can slay the Nazgul!" He sniffed the air and then began to gag. "That's no man!" He cried to the others. "It is a smell! And that means it can-" Before he finished his sentence, the King of the Nazgul had been slain and fell off of his dead beast, which was plummeting to the ground. The other Nazgul shortly followed suit.
Faramir suddenly began to gag. The smell was too much for the old and much abused gas-mask to hold back. Tears welled up in his eyes.
Gus noticed this and said, "I know that was quite a touching victory sir! Boromir…"
"May he rest in peace!" said all of the survivors of the battle and Gus' antics.
"… would be proud of you!" Gus finished.
Faramir started to feel light-headed. The gas was getting to him…
"Captain Faramir!" His advisor cried. "No!"
The advisor caught Faramir as he collapsed. To the unconscious Faramir, the advisor yelled, "Did I not tell you? Did I not say it was suicide? Oh, woe! Oh, misery! You must be taken away from this tainted place. You need fresh air!"
"Well, I don't see anything wrong with the air!" Gus said. "The problem is that gas-mask! Maybe if you took it off he-"
"No!" the advisor said. "That would not help! I must hasten to Minas Tirith! You, Gus, shall remain here incase Sauron himself decides to show up."
Gus blinked. "Uh… okay…" He said. He let a small wind fly.
Faramir groaned as if to awaken, but then just fell limp with the new abominable stench. The advisor put him on a horse and they rode together to the city of Minas Tirith.
Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews and tell us what you thought!