Woohoo! A second chapter! Thank you everyone for the nice reviews. I also
just realized that I forgot a disclaimer last chapter, so here goes:
Disclaimer: Much as I wish that I had created Middle-Earth, and all the characters that inhabit it, I unfortunately didn't. J.R.R Tolkien did. He is most probably spinning in his grave right now.
-----
Saruman rang Sauron the next day. Sauron was very pleased, and told him to come over to Barad-Dur as soon as he could. Then another problem presented itself: how should he get there?
Saruman had never ridden a horse; he had had no need up until now, and no desire to either. He possessed neither a magic flying broomstick, nor a matter transference beam. The thought of walking quite frankly sickened him. For several days, he thought. Then an idea struck him. He would get an eagle to fly him there.
Picking up a large copy of the Middle-Earth yellow pages, he flipped through it until he came to "Middle-Earth's only form of public transport: The Eagle Taxi!"
"Our prices are quite extortionately high," he read out loud, "but since there's no competition that doesn't worry us in the slightest. To have an eagle fly you to the location of your choice, phone Gwaihir on 0800-958- 181." Saruman, who hadn't done any sort of paid work in three centuries, doubted that he could afford the prices asked by the eagles, but decided he'd worry about that later.
He dialled the number. Presently, an irritable, squawking voice answered:
"Gwaihir speaking. Who's that? What do you want?"
"Um, hello, yes, this is Saruman the White (well, orange and lilac, actually) speaking. I'd like an eagle to fly me somewhere."
"Well, were d'ya want to go?"
"Mordor, if that's okay."
"Mordor! There's no way your getting me to go to Mordor! Load of crazy orcs shooting arrows and throwing stones. Making a game of it: Fifty points if you can hit his head! Ha! I ain't going. I'll send my brother Landroval."
"Oh, thank you so much. How much will that be?"
"Er...let me see now. That seems to work out at about one thousand three hundred and forty-two Middle-Earth dollars."
"What! That's ridiculous!"
"I know, buddy, but what you gonna do? You're an Istari. You don't like riding horses, in case you get hurt. You absolutely refuse to walk in case you get your robes dirty or break a nail. And there's no other possible way of getting there."
"Oh, I guess you're right. Okay, I accept. I just have one question."
"Which is...?"
"In the War of the Ring, why the hell didn't Elrond and Gandalf and the rest just get one of your eagles to fly the Ring to Mount Doom and drop it in? It would have saved them a lot of time, effort and death."
"Oh, they were going to all right, but they pulled out in the end. Those Elves are a tight-fisted lot. They decided that they weren't prepared to spend that amount of money on safeguarding the future of the free peoples of Middle-Earth. They told me that they'd rather do it themselves, thank you very much. Look where it landed them. I'll send Landroval over to get you as soon as he comes back from Lorien."
The following evening Saruman was studying the crossword in the paper. He was completely stuck on thirteen down, when there was a squawk, then a loud thud against the window, then nothing. Saruman climbed down the stairs, went out of his tower, and peered around. He could see nothing, because it was pitch black, and he had never mastered the art of making the top of his staff glow (even though this is probably the most simple thing anyone could conceivably do with a staff). He stumbled around blindly in the dark for a while. Then he tripped over a large feathery object lying on the ground. He fell flat on his face and got tangled up in his robes. The large feathery object said crossly:
"For Eru's sake, watch what you're doing, you clumsy great wizard!"
"I'm very sorry," stuttered Saruman. "I didn't see you."
"That," replied the object, "was obvious."
"Would I be right in assuming that you are the eagle Landroval?"
"You sure would. I expect that you are the wizard Saruman the Orange and Lilac, and that you'd like me to fly you to Mordor. Quite an unusual holiday destination for an Istari like yourself, is it not? All fiery mountains and rocks and orcs and generally no fun. Not my idea of fun, anyway."
"Well, I wouldn't normally go within a fifty mile radius of the place, but there's this guy who lives there called Sauron - heard of him? Anyway, he's going to give me lessons in being evil.You see, it's mey greatest ambition."
"That's a strange vocation, isn't it? Come on, enough talk, jump aboard, and don't forget your credit card."
Saruman got onto the eagle's back. Landroval spread his wings, rose majestically into the air, and narrowly avoided being impaled on one of the sharper bits of the tower of Orthanc.
Saruman soon became aware that Landroval was very, if not completely blind. For the first twenty minutes or so, they flew in entirely the wrong direction. When Saruman tentatively commented on this, Landroval performed a complete 'loop-the-loop' in the air and sped off haphazardly in the general direction of Mordor. They skimmed trees, were shot at by the people of Dale, almost crash-landed in a lake.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Saruman yelled above the noise of the wind.
"You what?" squawked back Landroval.
"I said 'are you....' WATCH OUT FOR THAT MOUNTAIN!!!"
For Landroval had almost flown straight into Mount Doom.
They had arrived at last. Saruman, shaking with the terror of the ride, gave the four-figure sum to Landroval without much protest, and, still quaking, walked up the hill towards Barad-Dur, which was looking like everyone's idea of what a hideously evil city should.
Disclaimer: Much as I wish that I had created Middle-Earth, and all the characters that inhabit it, I unfortunately didn't. J.R.R Tolkien did. He is most probably spinning in his grave right now.
-----
Saruman rang Sauron the next day. Sauron was very pleased, and told him to come over to Barad-Dur as soon as he could. Then another problem presented itself: how should he get there?
Saruman had never ridden a horse; he had had no need up until now, and no desire to either. He possessed neither a magic flying broomstick, nor a matter transference beam. The thought of walking quite frankly sickened him. For several days, he thought. Then an idea struck him. He would get an eagle to fly him there.
Picking up a large copy of the Middle-Earth yellow pages, he flipped through it until he came to "Middle-Earth's only form of public transport: The Eagle Taxi!"
"Our prices are quite extortionately high," he read out loud, "but since there's no competition that doesn't worry us in the slightest. To have an eagle fly you to the location of your choice, phone Gwaihir on 0800-958- 181." Saruman, who hadn't done any sort of paid work in three centuries, doubted that he could afford the prices asked by the eagles, but decided he'd worry about that later.
He dialled the number. Presently, an irritable, squawking voice answered:
"Gwaihir speaking. Who's that? What do you want?"
"Um, hello, yes, this is Saruman the White (well, orange and lilac, actually) speaking. I'd like an eagle to fly me somewhere."
"Well, were d'ya want to go?"
"Mordor, if that's okay."
"Mordor! There's no way your getting me to go to Mordor! Load of crazy orcs shooting arrows and throwing stones. Making a game of it: Fifty points if you can hit his head! Ha! I ain't going. I'll send my brother Landroval."
"Oh, thank you so much. How much will that be?"
"Er...let me see now. That seems to work out at about one thousand three hundred and forty-two Middle-Earth dollars."
"What! That's ridiculous!"
"I know, buddy, but what you gonna do? You're an Istari. You don't like riding horses, in case you get hurt. You absolutely refuse to walk in case you get your robes dirty or break a nail. And there's no other possible way of getting there."
"Oh, I guess you're right. Okay, I accept. I just have one question."
"Which is...?"
"In the War of the Ring, why the hell didn't Elrond and Gandalf and the rest just get one of your eagles to fly the Ring to Mount Doom and drop it in? It would have saved them a lot of time, effort and death."
"Oh, they were going to all right, but they pulled out in the end. Those Elves are a tight-fisted lot. They decided that they weren't prepared to spend that amount of money on safeguarding the future of the free peoples of Middle-Earth. They told me that they'd rather do it themselves, thank you very much. Look where it landed them. I'll send Landroval over to get you as soon as he comes back from Lorien."
The following evening Saruman was studying the crossword in the paper. He was completely stuck on thirteen down, when there was a squawk, then a loud thud against the window, then nothing. Saruman climbed down the stairs, went out of his tower, and peered around. He could see nothing, because it was pitch black, and he had never mastered the art of making the top of his staff glow (even though this is probably the most simple thing anyone could conceivably do with a staff). He stumbled around blindly in the dark for a while. Then he tripped over a large feathery object lying on the ground. He fell flat on his face and got tangled up in his robes. The large feathery object said crossly:
"For Eru's sake, watch what you're doing, you clumsy great wizard!"
"I'm very sorry," stuttered Saruman. "I didn't see you."
"That," replied the object, "was obvious."
"Would I be right in assuming that you are the eagle Landroval?"
"You sure would. I expect that you are the wizard Saruman the Orange and Lilac, and that you'd like me to fly you to Mordor. Quite an unusual holiday destination for an Istari like yourself, is it not? All fiery mountains and rocks and orcs and generally no fun. Not my idea of fun, anyway."
"Well, I wouldn't normally go within a fifty mile radius of the place, but there's this guy who lives there called Sauron - heard of him? Anyway, he's going to give me lessons in being evil.You see, it's mey greatest ambition."
"That's a strange vocation, isn't it? Come on, enough talk, jump aboard, and don't forget your credit card."
Saruman got onto the eagle's back. Landroval spread his wings, rose majestically into the air, and narrowly avoided being impaled on one of the sharper bits of the tower of Orthanc.
Saruman soon became aware that Landroval was very, if not completely blind. For the first twenty minutes or so, they flew in entirely the wrong direction. When Saruman tentatively commented on this, Landroval performed a complete 'loop-the-loop' in the air and sped off haphazardly in the general direction of Mordor. They skimmed trees, were shot at by the people of Dale, almost crash-landed in a lake.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Saruman yelled above the noise of the wind.
"You what?" squawked back Landroval.
"I said 'are you....' WATCH OUT FOR THAT MOUNTAIN!!!"
For Landroval had almost flown straight into Mount Doom.
They had arrived at last. Saruman, shaking with the terror of the ride, gave the four-figure sum to Landroval without much protest, and, still quaking, walked up the hill towards Barad-Dur, which was looking like everyone's idea of what a hideously evil city should.