A/N: I think it's been about four months since I posted a chapter of this,
so I apologise for the delay. It wasn't even writer's block, just complete
laziness, which was followed by a hell of a lot of exams. To recap, in case
you've forgotten what was happening and don't want to read the whole thing
again: Saruman, who wants to be evil but isn't very good at it, has had
lessons from Sauron in Mordor, on the condition that he gets half of
whatever kingdoms Saruman conquers. Sauron has had no luck teaching him the
basic principles of evilness, but was so fed up of Saruman that he sent him
off to conquer the Shire anyway. After a stressful journey, Sauron arrived
in the Shire and attempted to conquer it, to no avail. He was apprehended
by hobbits and taken to Rivendell by a party composed of Gandalf, Frodo,
Merry and Pippin, to be hopefully cured of his evilness Elrond the
psychiatrist. That takes us up to this chapter. Someone in a review
suggested that Elrond could inadvertently succeed in teaching Saruman to be
evil where Sauron had failed. I've adapted that idea a little for this
chapter. This author's note is getting so long, it'll soon exceed the
length of the actual chapter so I'll shut up now. :)
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Chapter 7
As psychiatrists go, Elrond was not a good one, but he was the only one for miles around, which meant that he did very good business, and also meant that his rates were sky-high. Because of his constant stream of clients (which included Gollum, Radagast, Celeborn, and numerous other Lorien elves), Elrond believed himself to be excellent at curing the mentally unstable of Middle-Earth. He regularly claimed that no patient of his ever needed a second session with him; one was always enough to cure them. It didn't occur to him that this was probably because they all hated him so much they preferred to be insane, depressed or suicidal for the rest of their lives rather than endure Elrond's treatment.
Saruman was not being terribly responsive to Elrond's technique - in fact, he just wasn't co-operating.
"Saruman," began Elrond, in what he hoped was a reasonable, pleading sort of voice. There was no reply from Saruman, who was lying on the couch with his arms folded. Elrond tried again:
"Saruman, won't you just listen to me?" he said more sternly. Saruman stuck his fingers in his ears and began to sing very tunelessly.
"Saruman, you aren't going to gain anything by behaving like a little child. Now, I'm going to stay right here until you agree to talk to me." Saruman stuck his tongue out at Elrond and clamped a cushion over his head (a/n. Saruman's head, not Elrond's). Elrond sat down in a chair to wait.
Five hours later, he was still waiting. The cushion was still over Saruman's head, and Elrond was feeling very fed up and very hungry. He decided that patience just wasn't going to work, and realised it was time to resort to threatening.
"Saruman!" he exclaimed, "If you don't talk to me, I'll...I'll...I'll break your staff in half! I'll have a troop of elves go over to the tower of Orthanc and paint it with polka-dots! I'll shoot your pony and serve it for Sunday lunch!"
That worked. Saruman couldn't bear the thought of his long-suffering, zebra- striped pony getting killed and eaten, although the animal was rather temperamental, fussy, and generally not very nice. He reluctantly removed the cushion from his head and fixed Elrond with what he hoped was an evil and terror-inducing glare. It did not have the desired effect, as Elrond thought Saruman was smiling at him. However, Saruman didn't know that, and he resolved to co-operate, albeit sulkily.
Elrond put the tips of his fingers together, and regarded Saruman over the top of them. "Now," he said, and then spent several seconds searching for a good word to say next. The search was fruitless, so he said "Now" again, and then smiled in a knowing sort of way, hoping to give the impression that he had just made an enlightening discovering concerning Saruman's mental health. He nodded to anyone who was watching, hummed a tuneless tune, scratched the end of his long, pointed Elven nose and rearranged some stray hair braids. He suddenly remembered why he was there. Saruman was looking at him as though *he* was the one who needed psychiatric care. He straightened his back, and thought of some words to come after "Now".
"Now then, Saruman, I was wondering if you could give me the philosophy behind your recent, umm, attempts at being evil. You know the sort of things, what inspired you, your feelings about it, whether it was connected to your childhood in any random way, all the sorts of things that psychiatrists normally go on about. Take your time...no, on second thoughts, don't, there's a big party tonight in honour of some unspecified Maia's birthday, and I want to make sure I have time to wash my hair between now and then."
Saruman scowled, but began to speak. "Well," he said, slowly, "it wasn't any specific event which inspired me. The idea just came to me one night when I was reading the paper. It hit me, just like that. I suddenly thought, here I am, spending all my time doing charity functions, helping old hobbits across the road, doing the crossword. When I either finally die, or decide to sail West, no-one's going to remember me for more than about ten days. But then, if I establish myself as a figure of menace, and have vast armies and hoards of adoring subjects, even when I die, my memory will live for ever. Like Melkor."
"Who?" said Elrond, then, "Just kidding. But Saruman, haven't you read the Silmarillion, the Histories of Middle-Earth? The bad guys in there invariably suffer painful, humiliating deaths at the hands of numerous elves and humans. There are no exceptions. Becoming evil is like signing your own death warrant."
"So is being good! Take Frodo, for example. He's gone on a long, gruelling quest, delivered the ring to Mount Doom, at great personal cost, been attacked, nearly eaten, impaled on various items and now, quite frankly, the poor guy's a wreck. Nerves as fragile as anything. You only have to sneak up behind him and say, "My precioussss," in his ear, and he jumps about a mile into the air and is out cold for the next three days. He's ill twice a year, he gets no recognition at all, he's practically raving mad, and when he finally does sail West, the memory of him will last about six months, and then no-one will even know he existed. All this for what?"
"Ummm, for the continued safety and happiness of the peoples of Middle- earth?"
"They should have got an elf to do it. And there's another example: Elves. They've spent all their time in Middle-earth helping people, and sacrificing themselves nobly, and being generally obnoxiously good, and what's happening to them? They're all going west, and given a couple of years, no-one will ever even recall what they were. I mean, Galadriel, for instance: "I will diminish and go into the west, and remain yaddayaddaya." If she'd just been evil from the start, she wouldn't have to worry about all that. No, Elrond, you can try as hard as you like, but nothing is going to convince me that being good is better than being evil."
Elrond had been listening to all this with increasing interest and thoughtfulness. He now sat silently for a few seconds before saying absent- mindedly, "OK, Saruman, we'll leave it there for today, come back tomorrow. I'll see you at the party tonight." Saruman got up and left, and Elrond continued to sit at the desk, apparently lost in thought. At length, a distinctly evil smile spread slowly over his face.
A/N: Well, it took me so long to get this chapter up that I think it would be slightly hypocritical to expect reviews, but if you do have the time, reviews would be very nice. ;)
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Chapter 7
As psychiatrists go, Elrond was not a good one, but he was the only one for miles around, which meant that he did very good business, and also meant that his rates were sky-high. Because of his constant stream of clients (which included Gollum, Radagast, Celeborn, and numerous other Lorien elves), Elrond believed himself to be excellent at curing the mentally unstable of Middle-Earth. He regularly claimed that no patient of his ever needed a second session with him; one was always enough to cure them. It didn't occur to him that this was probably because they all hated him so much they preferred to be insane, depressed or suicidal for the rest of their lives rather than endure Elrond's treatment.
Saruman was not being terribly responsive to Elrond's technique - in fact, he just wasn't co-operating.
"Saruman," began Elrond, in what he hoped was a reasonable, pleading sort of voice. There was no reply from Saruman, who was lying on the couch with his arms folded. Elrond tried again:
"Saruman, won't you just listen to me?" he said more sternly. Saruman stuck his fingers in his ears and began to sing very tunelessly.
"Saruman, you aren't going to gain anything by behaving like a little child. Now, I'm going to stay right here until you agree to talk to me." Saruman stuck his tongue out at Elrond and clamped a cushion over his head (a/n. Saruman's head, not Elrond's). Elrond sat down in a chair to wait.
Five hours later, he was still waiting. The cushion was still over Saruman's head, and Elrond was feeling very fed up and very hungry. He decided that patience just wasn't going to work, and realised it was time to resort to threatening.
"Saruman!" he exclaimed, "If you don't talk to me, I'll...I'll...I'll break your staff in half! I'll have a troop of elves go over to the tower of Orthanc and paint it with polka-dots! I'll shoot your pony and serve it for Sunday lunch!"
That worked. Saruman couldn't bear the thought of his long-suffering, zebra- striped pony getting killed and eaten, although the animal was rather temperamental, fussy, and generally not very nice. He reluctantly removed the cushion from his head and fixed Elrond with what he hoped was an evil and terror-inducing glare. It did not have the desired effect, as Elrond thought Saruman was smiling at him. However, Saruman didn't know that, and he resolved to co-operate, albeit sulkily.
Elrond put the tips of his fingers together, and regarded Saruman over the top of them. "Now," he said, and then spent several seconds searching for a good word to say next. The search was fruitless, so he said "Now" again, and then smiled in a knowing sort of way, hoping to give the impression that he had just made an enlightening discovering concerning Saruman's mental health. He nodded to anyone who was watching, hummed a tuneless tune, scratched the end of his long, pointed Elven nose and rearranged some stray hair braids. He suddenly remembered why he was there. Saruman was looking at him as though *he* was the one who needed psychiatric care. He straightened his back, and thought of some words to come after "Now".
"Now then, Saruman, I was wondering if you could give me the philosophy behind your recent, umm, attempts at being evil. You know the sort of things, what inspired you, your feelings about it, whether it was connected to your childhood in any random way, all the sorts of things that psychiatrists normally go on about. Take your time...no, on second thoughts, don't, there's a big party tonight in honour of some unspecified Maia's birthday, and I want to make sure I have time to wash my hair between now and then."
Saruman scowled, but began to speak. "Well," he said, slowly, "it wasn't any specific event which inspired me. The idea just came to me one night when I was reading the paper. It hit me, just like that. I suddenly thought, here I am, spending all my time doing charity functions, helping old hobbits across the road, doing the crossword. When I either finally die, or decide to sail West, no-one's going to remember me for more than about ten days. But then, if I establish myself as a figure of menace, and have vast armies and hoards of adoring subjects, even when I die, my memory will live for ever. Like Melkor."
"Who?" said Elrond, then, "Just kidding. But Saruman, haven't you read the Silmarillion, the Histories of Middle-Earth? The bad guys in there invariably suffer painful, humiliating deaths at the hands of numerous elves and humans. There are no exceptions. Becoming evil is like signing your own death warrant."
"So is being good! Take Frodo, for example. He's gone on a long, gruelling quest, delivered the ring to Mount Doom, at great personal cost, been attacked, nearly eaten, impaled on various items and now, quite frankly, the poor guy's a wreck. Nerves as fragile as anything. You only have to sneak up behind him and say, "My precioussss," in his ear, and he jumps about a mile into the air and is out cold for the next three days. He's ill twice a year, he gets no recognition at all, he's practically raving mad, and when he finally does sail West, the memory of him will last about six months, and then no-one will even know he existed. All this for what?"
"Ummm, for the continued safety and happiness of the peoples of Middle- earth?"
"They should have got an elf to do it. And there's another example: Elves. They've spent all their time in Middle-earth helping people, and sacrificing themselves nobly, and being generally obnoxiously good, and what's happening to them? They're all going west, and given a couple of years, no-one will ever even recall what they were. I mean, Galadriel, for instance: "I will diminish and go into the west, and remain yaddayaddaya." If she'd just been evil from the start, she wouldn't have to worry about all that. No, Elrond, you can try as hard as you like, but nothing is going to convince me that being good is better than being evil."
Elrond had been listening to all this with increasing interest and thoughtfulness. He now sat silently for a few seconds before saying absent- mindedly, "OK, Saruman, we'll leave it there for today, come back tomorrow. I'll see you at the party tonight." Saruman got up and left, and Elrond continued to sit at the desk, apparently lost in thought. At length, a distinctly evil smile spread slowly over his face.
A/N: Well, it took me so long to get this chapter up that I think it would be slightly hypocritical to expect reviews, but if you do have the time, reviews would be very nice. ;)