Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up! This'll probably be the last one for a while now, since I'm going away for a week. Thanks to Kitty-Chan, little-bit-odd, Herodias, Darth Maligna, Mainecoon, Aeris, Riah-Chan, Snowling, Dark Ravenette, Kim, Mercuria, Eri, elf-fairygirl1224 and Butterfly for reviewing.
I'm writing this as I think of it, I have absolutely no idea where the story's going to go next so any suggestions welcome. Thanks!
----
Saruman miserably realised that he didn't have much choice expect to go to the Shire and do his best to take it over, even though he wasn't keen on the idea. He had never been much of a person for responsibility and he knew that he wasn't going to be good at it at all. But all the same he went round the shops of Barad-Dur finding the things he would need.
He couldn't find any black robes, but he did find a shop selling Hallowe'en costumes from which he bought a rather nice witch's cloak and hat. There were no swords to be had for love nor money so he had to make do with a water-pistol. The nearest thing in Barad-Dur to a black horse was a white pony, but he bought that too, along with some black paint.
The next day Saruman tried to paint his pony black. It was not particularly pleased at this treatment and promptly bit him, causing him to scream so loudly that everyone in a seventy metre vicinity had a splitting headache for several days afterwards. Several times he attempted to catch the pony and paint it, but each time it resisted. Finally, he came up with the idea of filling the water-pistol with black paint and squirting it at the pony. This worked rather better, although the pony did bear an unfortunate resemblance to a zebra. This didn't really matter, however, because nobody in Middle-earth had ever even heard of a zebra.
Once the paint had dried, Saruman set off for the Shire. He journeyed ceaselessly for what seemed like years, realised he had been going round in circles because he had forgotten to untie the pony before he left, untied the pony and started from the beginning. This time the journey seemed less long, and after a mere four months of getting lost, threatened, mocked, injured, humiliated and, on several occasions, nearly eaten, Saruman arrived, bedraggled, exhausted, and rather insane, in the Shire.
* * * * * * * * * *
Frodo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, was disturbed from the reading of his book by a wizard falling off a horse. He had had to look closely to tell that it was a wizard, because it was wearing a very tattered black cloak, and a pointed black hat, which was fringed with a quantity of what was apparently luminous green hair. For a few moment Frodo wondered who it was. Then he realised that could only be one person: Saruman. Gandalf had often spoken with scorn of the incompetent, and mentally deranged head of his order. On his last visit, about five months before, Gandalf had told Frodo about Saruman's continued obsession with becoming evil. "The best way of dealing with Saruman," Gandalf had said, "is to humour him." Frodo prepared to do just that.
"Greetings, Saruman the white," he said, jumping down from the tree in which he had been sitting. Saruman peered at him with incomprehension. He seemed to be having difficulty getting him in focus. Finally he stood up, and walked towards Frodo groggily.
"Mwahahahaha! I am Saruman the white no longer!" he said, his speech slurred, "Now I am Saruman the orange and lil...the Evil! You are the weakest link! Goodbye!" He then lost consciousness, and lay face down on the ground for several minutes. Then he sprang to his feet. Brandishing an umbrella at Frodo, he began chanting nonsense magical words.
"Abracadabra! Hocus-Pocus! Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"
Frodo had had enough, and began backing away from Saruman's incoherent rambling.
He reached the door of Bag End and slipped inside.
"Sam," he shouted, "Do you think you could come and help?"
"What is it?" came Sam's voice.
"It's Saruman, and I'm afraid he's flipped."
"In what way, flipped?" said Sam, as he appeared from round a corner.
"Well, he's wearing a kid's Hallowe'en costume, he seems to be having extreme difficulty talking and standing, and he's going round threatening people with an umbrella. I think we can be fairly certain that his sanity has gone AWOL."
"That sounds bad, Mr. Frodo. What should we do."
"Well, I think he's probably to incapacitated to be a danger to any hobbits. He's actually more of a danger to himself. We'd best get him to a good psychiatrist."
"I'll call Gandalf, too," said Sam.
"Yes, but come and help me calm him down first."
At that point several of Sam's small children came out of a nearby room.
"What is it, Daddy?" they clamored.
"Nothing you need to worry about, just a mad wizard," said Sam over his shoulder, as he left.
I'm writing this as I think of it, I have absolutely no idea where the story's going to go next so any suggestions welcome. Thanks!
----
Saruman miserably realised that he didn't have much choice expect to go to the Shire and do his best to take it over, even though he wasn't keen on the idea. He had never been much of a person for responsibility and he knew that he wasn't going to be good at it at all. But all the same he went round the shops of Barad-Dur finding the things he would need.
He couldn't find any black robes, but he did find a shop selling Hallowe'en costumes from which he bought a rather nice witch's cloak and hat. There were no swords to be had for love nor money so he had to make do with a water-pistol. The nearest thing in Barad-Dur to a black horse was a white pony, but he bought that too, along with some black paint.
The next day Saruman tried to paint his pony black. It was not particularly pleased at this treatment and promptly bit him, causing him to scream so loudly that everyone in a seventy metre vicinity had a splitting headache for several days afterwards. Several times he attempted to catch the pony and paint it, but each time it resisted. Finally, he came up with the idea of filling the water-pistol with black paint and squirting it at the pony. This worked rather better, although the pony did bear an unfortunate resemblance to a zebra. This didn't really matter, however, because nobody in Middle-earth had ever even heard of a zebra.
Once the paint had dried, Saruman set off for the Shire. He journeyed ceaselessly for what seemed like years, realised he had been going round in circles because he had forgotten to untie the pony before he left, untied the pony and started from the beginning. This time the journey seemed less long, and after a mere four months of getting lost, threatened, mocked, injured, humiliated and, on several occasions, nearly eaten, Saruman arrived, bedraggled, exhausted, and rather insane, in the Shire.
* * * * * * * * * *
Frodo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, was disturbed from the reading of his book by a wizard falling off a horse. He had had to look closely to tell that it was a wizard, because it was wearing a very tattered black cloak, and a pointed black hat, which was fringed with a quantity of what was apparently luminous green hair. For a few moment Frodo wondered who it was. Then he realised that could only be one person: Saruman. Gandalf had often spoken with scorn of the incompetent, and mentally deranged head of his order. On his last visit, about five months before, Gandalf had told Frodo about Saruman's continued obsession with becoming evil. "The best way of dealing with Saruman," Gandalf had said, "is to humour him." Frodo prepared to do just that.
"Greetings, Saruman the white," he said, jumping down from the tree in which he had been sitting. Saruman peered at him with incomprehension. He seemed to be having difficulty getting him in focus. Finally he stood up, and walked towards Frodo groggily.
"Mwahahahaha! I am Saruman the white no longer!" he said, his speech slurred, "Now I am Saruman the orange and lil...the Evil! You are the weakest link! Goodbye!" He then lost consciousness, and lay face down on the ground for several minutes. Then he sprang to his feet. Brandishing an umbrella at Frodo, he began chanting nonsense magical words.
"Abracadabra! Hocus-Pocus! Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"
Frodo had had enough, and began backing away from Saruman's incoherent rambling.
He reached the door of Bag End and slipped inside.
"Sam," he shouted, "Do you think you could come and help?"
"What is it?" came Sam's voice.
"It's Saruman, and I'm afraid he's flipped."
"In what way, flipped?" said Sam, as he appeared from round a corner.
"Well, he's wearing a kid's Hallowe'en costume, he seems to be having extreme difficulty talking and standing, and he's going round threatening people with an umbrella. I think we can be fairly certain that his sanity has gone AWOL."
"That sounds bad, Mr. Frodo. What should we do."
"Well, I think he's probably to incapacitated to be a danger to any hobbits. He's actually more of a danger to himself. We'd best get him to a good psychiatrist."
"I'll call Gandalf, too," said Sam.
"Yes, but come and help me calm him down first."
At that point several of Sam's small children came out of a nearby room.
"What is it, Daddy?" they clamored.
"Nothing you need to worry about, just a mad wizard," said Sam over his shoulder, as he left.