Hey, it's been a while.... Just been sort of preoccupied, I suppose. I
mean, in between being a huge lazy-ass, not being able to find the floppy
disk I save all these stories on and spending hours trying to get the
bartender in Douglas Adam' Starship Titanic to get me a drink, I sort of
ignored it. I've had this chapter done for a long time, but didn't post it.
Sorry, if anyone actually waited for it. Thanks. Now on with the show....
Chapter Eleven
Tears poured over the cold cheeks of the members of the Fellowship as they sat, hand in hand, heart in heart, screaming the pain of their lost friends away. Gimli and Maniac remained strong, though pained gasps and choked words of, "Well.... I always thought that little Goose fellow would die but...." made their true emotions obvious (though it could be argued that they were yet again forced to pay a now tearful Merry and Pippin, who, depite being crushed, graciously accepted the loot). Legolas's now teal eyes surveyed the land confusedly as he comforted Gally, softly rubbing her shoulder. He then found what his eyes had searched for: Aragorn.
The man was leaving. Literally walking away from everyone else, leaving them all behind. "Estel!" Legolas cried, at a complete loss of words. Hearing an old name, one almost completely faded from memory, Aragorn turned. Legolas's eyes grew wide with shock and confusion. He really didn't have much more to say. He needed to think of something to say, and fast. Aragorn's expression matched that of Legolas's, though a bit more aggravated. Why had the elf called him? It wasn't like they had a lot of time to waste just staring at each other like confused morons!
"Look, guys... uh.... Guys and girls: We.... We really should go. I mean... If we wait to long, it'll be night and then.... Well.... Orcs, ya know, they come out around night."
No one was really too riveted by Aragorn's attempt at a noble speech, and in truth, no one was really listening but Boromir, who busied himself with the sobbing hobbits who WEREN'T collecting cash. But he heard either way. And he agreed.
"Come, little ones," he said patting Sam and Frodo's shoulders. He turned to the others, "Come, everyone. Grieving will not aid the state our lost friends are in."
With some grumbling, as well as some last sobs, the Fellowship found their way to their feet and marched forward.
"So," Jewels gave a last sniffle and then stood strong, "Where to?"
"North...." Aragorn muttered pointing in the direction he had been walking.
"NORTH TO FREEDOM!" Phoenix proclaimed, attempting a dramatic moment. Others stared. ".... Sorry."
"That's south, you idiot." Maniac corrected him, doing her best to ignore the psychotic outbursts of the others.
"I think it's east." Legolas suggested.
"Here's an idea, let's go that way. You know, the way we came from? Yeah. The Shire. You wanna fight evil? Well.... One never knows what horrible perils lurk in the depths of the Shire." Phoenix offered her suggestion, her tone dry and cynical. Though they ignored her remark, the others privately prayed they could do just that.
***Meanwhile***
A great, beautiful forest stood. It trees were the most beautiful evergreens, tall and glittering with the light dappled of morning dew. A small, elegant bird flew, lightly chirping, and found its way back to a nest high in one of the trees. It perched and called loudly, its song light and cheerful. This all soon changed. Its beautiful singing became a hideous sqwaking scream. The tree! The tree was plumetting, the ground grew nearer and nearer. Not knowing what to do, the once happy bird flew as quickly as it could, leaving its nest behind. Terrified, it found itself a new tree to perch on but no! This tree was falling as well. The bird's head, before taking to air once more, darted, surveying the land. Trees everywhere collapsed, and growing nearer and nearer to the destroyed forest was.... Was it a beacon? The bird couldn't be sure. It was bright, shimmering silvery-white.... Yes, the bird decided, a beacon of hope. It flew closer and closer to its Beacon of Hope....
Saruman the White walked swiftly to the orcs-his orcs. Hard at working, destroying forests. Some, he noted were below the ground, hard at working building weapons, among other things, but they weren't really morning types and he had no desire to deal with their whining. Something was coming at his head. Was that a bird? Saruman quickly shot a glance to a near by orc, and the bird fell to the ground seconds later, a rock next it, and a small wound to its head. Saruman grinned a sinister grin that one grins when trying to disturb one's friends or small children and walked on.
The white wizard approached one of the orcs, who had become something of a leader to the others to receive a report of their productivity.
"The trees are strong master, their roots grow deep." He said, flatly, head bobbling animatedly with his words. He stared curiously, awaiting Saruman's cold, cruel words.
"Tear them all down."
Saruman's eyes glared at the forest, cold and angry. Gandalf had left him friendless and alone. He cried over the loss of his friend, large, cold tears. He had lifted a silky cloth to dry his eyes with, forgetting that beneath it was the palintir. He and the Dark Lord gabbed for a bit about Gandalf, and Sauron taught the wizard how to do things with his eyelashes that would make his eyes look more vibrant. Things like this went on for a while, the two gossiping whiles Saruman carefully manicured his nails into sharp daggers using tips Sauron had given him. An alliance had been formed. And now the time had come. An army was to be built.
For years, people have wanted revenge on their ex's, revenge schemes devised, but never carried out. Even our own lovely Arwen had separated from Aragorn for a brief period of time and created an elaborate plan to get back at him. A complicated, sinister plan involving a miniature strategically placed noose, a tempting elven maiden, and lots of bees. A plan that was never carried out. Saruman, however, was not one to go back on his word.
One night, while munching on Turkish delights, straightening his hair, and chatting with Sauron, an idea arose.
"....And I said to him 'Well, Elrond, we can't win them all, can we?' and he just glared at me and says 'Quiet, flared-nostrils.' Can you believe it? I mean, can you believe it? It was a simple eyebrow joke! And anyway, it's not my fault he has odd-looking eyebrows! That's just the way he was born, I suppose. Can you believe it?"
"It's unbelievable. Saruman, I didn't know you straightened your hair!" said the raspy, dark voice on the other end of the palintir.
"Oh, of course! Looks like these don't come naturally you know."
"I must have lost touch with the outside world...."
"Yes, being a disembodied eye must be awful...."
"Well..... It's harder to strike terror into the hearts of others, you know? I mean, it's not that threatening. I'm a bloody eye! What am I gonna do, blink at you? I can't even do that! Haven't got any lids! Anyway, I can't see well, either. I really could use a contact lens. And the flames? They're my most threatening feature and they're unintentional! Seriously, I don't want them here! I'd kill for some eye drops."
"Well, you've given that small chap with your ring a right fright. Guess that's good enough. He tends to bother Gandalf about it, so really you're helping us both."
"Yes.... I've been meaning to talk about that with you. I mean.... How would you like to.... Get back at Gandalf?"
Saruman had considered it carefully and decided. What the hell? Sauron was a friend, he'd never do anything that would jeopardize his safety, right?
Sauron's orders were to build an army worthy of Mordor, and just for the hell of it, rip down some trees.
Saruman had grown bored watching the orcs-his orcs-rip apart the once- beautiful forest. He traveled down to the hole to survey the creation of his army.
The hole was fiery, steaming, muddy-in a word, disgusting. Scattered groups of orcs banged pieces of cooling metal into shape. One large collection hovered around wall... a wet, muddy wall.
The orcs had separated themselves into different clans. There were the messenger orcs, the ironsmiths, the Ones that tear down trees (all agreed this group had the worst name of all), and the Breeders. They each treated this segregation with the utmost dignity. It wasn't some silly game they'd made up; it was order. This was the way things were. You were in a clan, and you stuck with that clan. Clans were so strict about their internal cohesiveness that very few, if any, ever talked to any of the other clans.
Everyone knew the Breeders were a boys' club. They fought playfully, bet each other to do idiotic, incomprehensibly dangerous tasks, on occasion wandered together looking for voluptuous orc ladies (said ladies, as it turns out, are almost impossible to find. One can not comprehend the difficulty it is to "pick up" one). Their boyish nature would be the death of them, the prudish messenger-orcs would preach. No one ever listened to them, though, and those who did soon forgot their words when the Breeders bombarded them with mud.
"Bet you're scared," Oinky, a leader of the Breeders, teased the innocent passers-by. Shows them what happens when you tare at a Breeder. "Bet you're afraid it'll be stronger than you. You're afraid it'll beat you up." "N-n-n-n-no we're not!" Glicky protested. Glicky and Smepherdon were not Breeder-orcs. They had no desire to be. They were simple-minded ironsmiths, working hard to make weaponry for the great army of Mordor. It was their fatal mistake that they wandered past the Breeders on hatching day.
Saruman the White approached. He smiled, nodded to Glicky and Smepherdon to hatch the first of his army. Smepherdon swallowed hard and Glicky sighed. They scrabble to the egg, swishing mud off of the.... Thing. The grabbed at the thin, plasticy substance that encased the Monster. Smepherdon looked up as he tore at it, turned to Saruman.
"Master, why does the Army hatch from.... Saran Wrap?"
These were his last words.
The Nazgul ripped through his shell and grabbed his two nursemaids by the throat, growling gloriously through their slow, hideously painful demise.
Saruman grinned and let a small laugh ring from his lips. Then they were almost ready. 'By the time the Fellowship arrives, they will be ready,' he thought, 'Waiting for them with death and destruction and pain. And tea. Wait.... tea?'
"Master," one of the orcs stumbled up to him, extending a cup and saucer, "You tea his ready."
Saruman took the tea, threw back his head and laughed.
"When they arrive they will all die!" With that, he raised the cup to his lips and sipped. Wickedly sipped.
A/N: Yeah so I tend to have a sort of twisted sense of humor. This chapter was sorta darkly funny. But hey, what do you think the Two Towers parody's gonna be like??? I await your reviews/flames/praise. Love and chocolate!!!
Chapter Eleven
Tears poured over the cold cheeks of the members of the Fellowship as they sat, hand in hand, heart in heart, screaming the pain of their lost friends away. Gimli and Maniac remained strong, though pained gasps and choked words of, "Well.... I always thought that little Goose fellow would die but...." made their true emotions obvious (though it could be argued that they were yet again forced to pay a now tearful Merry and Pippin, who, depite being crushed, graciously accepted the loot). Legolas's now teal eyes surveyed the land confusedly as he comforted Gally, softly rubbing her shoulder. He then found what his eyes had searched for: Aragorn.
The man was leaving. Literally walking away from everyone else, leaving them all behind. "Estel!" Legolas cried, at a complete loss of words. Hearing an old name, one almost completely faded from memory, Aragorn turned. Legolas's eyes grew wide with shock and confusion. He really didn't have much more to say. He needed to think of something to say, and fast. Aragorn's expression matched that of Legolas's, though a bit more aggravated. Why had the elf called him? It wasn't like they had a lot of time to waste just staring at each other like confused morons!
"Look, guys... uh.... Guys and girls: We.... We really should go. I mean... If we wait to long, it'll be night and then.... Well.... Orcs, ya know, they come out around night."
No one was really too riveted by Aragorn's attempt at a noble speech, and in truth, no one was really listening but Boromir, who busied himself with the sobbing hobbits who WEREN'T collecting cash. But he heard either way. And he agreed.
"Come, little ones," he said patting Sam and Frodo's shoulders. He turned to the others, "Come, everyone. Grieving will not aid the state our lost friends are in."
With some grumbling, as well as some last sobs, the Fellowship found their way to their feet and marched forward.
"So," Jewels gave a last sniffle and then stood strong, "Where to?"
"North...." Aragorn muttered pointing in the direction he had been walking.
"NORTH TO FREEDOM!" Phoenix proclaimed, attempting a dramatic moment. Others stared. ".... Sorry."
"That's south, you idiot." Maniac corrected him, doing her best to ignore the psychotic outbursts of the others.
"I think it's east." Legolas suggested.
"Here's an idea, let's go that way. You know, the way we came from? Yeah. The Shire. You wanna fight evil? Well.... One never knows what horrible perils lurk in the depths of the Shire." Phoenix offered her suggestion, her tone dry and cynical. Though they ignored her remark, the others privately prayed they could do just that.
***Meanwhile***
A great, beautiful forest stood. It trees were the most beautiful evergreens, tall and glittering with the light dappled of morning dew. A small, elegant bird flew, lightly chirping, and found its way back to a nest high in one of the trees. It perched and called loudly, its song light and cheerful. This all soon changed. Its beautiful singing became a hideous sqwaking scream. The tree! The tree was plumetting, the ground grew nearer and nearer. Not knowing what to do, the once happy bird flew as quickly as it could, leaving its nest behind. Terrified, it found itself a new tree to perch on but no! This tree was falling as well. The bird's head, before taking to air once more, darted, surveying the land. Trees everywhere collapsed, and growing nearer and nearer to the destroyed forest was.... Was it a beacon? The bird couldn't be sure. It was bright, shimmering silvery-white.... Yes, the bird decided, a beacon of hope. It flew closer and closer to its Beacon of Hope....
Saruman the White walked swiftly to the orcs-his orcs. Hard at working, destroying forests. Some, he noted were below the ground, hard at working building weapons, among other things, but they weren't really morning types and he had no desire to deal with their whining. Something was coming at his head. Was that a bird? Saruman quickly shot a glance to a near by orc, and the bird fell to the ground seconds later, a rock next it, and a small wound to its head. Saruman grinned a sinister grin that one grins when trying to disturb one's friends or small children and walked on.
The white wizard approached one of the orcs, who had become something of a leader to the others to receive a report of their productivity.
"The trees are strong master, their roots grow deep." He said, flatly, head bobbling animatedly with his words. He stared curiously, awaiting Saruman's cold, cruel words.
"Tear them all down."
Saruman's eyes glared at the forest, cold and angry. Gandalf had left him friendless and alone. He cried over the loss of his friend, large, cold tears. He had lifted a silky cloth to dry his eyes with, forgetting that beneath it was the palintir. He and the Dark Lord gabbed for a bit about Gandalf, and Sauron taught the wizard how to do things with his eyelashes that would make his eyes look more vibrant. Things like this went on for a while, the two gossiping whiles Saruman carefully manicured his nails into sharp daggers using tips Sauron had given him. An alliance had been formed. And now the time had come. An army was to be built.
For years, people have wanted revenge on their ex's, revenge schemes devised, but never carried out. Even our own lovely Arwen had separated from Aragorn for a brief period of time and created an elaborate plan to get back at him. A complicated, sinister plan involving a miniature strategically placed noose, a tempting elven maiden, and lots of bees. A plan that was never carried out. Saruman, however, was not one to go back on his word.
One night, while munching on Turkish delights, straightening his hair, and chatting with Sauron, an idea arose.
"....And I said to him 'Well, Elrond, we can't win them all, can we?' and he just glared at me and says 'Quiet, flared-nostrils.' Can you believe it? I mean, can you believe it? It was a simple eyebrow joke! And anyway, it's not my fault he has odd-looking eyebrows! That's just the way he was born, I suppose. Can you believe it?"
"It's unbelievable. Saruman, I didn't know you straightened your hair!" said the raspy, dark voice on the other end of the palintir.
"Oh, of course! Looks like these don't come naturally you know."
"I must have lost touch with the outside world...."
"Yes, being a disembodied eye must be awful...."
"Well..... It's harder to strike terror into the hearts of others, you know? I mean, it's not that threatening. I'm a bloody eye! What am I gonna do, blink at you? I can't even do that! Haven't got any lids! Anyway, I can't see well, either. I really could use a contact lens. And the flames? They're my most threatening feature and they're unintentional! Seriously, I don't want them here! I'd kill for some eye drops."
"Well, you've given that small chap with your ring a right fright. Guess that's good enough. He tends to bother Gandalf about it, so really you're helping us both."
"Yes.... I've been meaning to talk about that with you. I mean.... How would you like to.... Get back at Gandalf?"
Saruman had considered it carefully and decided. What the hell? Sauron was a friend, he'd never do anything that would jeopardize his safety, right?
Sauron's orders were to build an army worthy of Mordor, and just for the hell of it, rip down some trees.
Saruman had grown bored watching the orcs-his orcs-rip apart the once- beautiful forest. He traveled down to the hole to survey the creation of his army.
The hole was fiery, steaming, muddy-in a word, disgusting. Scattered groups of orcs banged pieces of cooling metal into shape. One large collection hovered around wall... a wet, muddy wall.
The orcs had separated themselves into different clans. There were the messenger orcs, the ironsmiths, the Ones that tear down trees (all agreed this group had the worst name of all), and the Breeders. They each treated this segregation with the utmost dignity. It wasn't some silly game they'd made up; it was order. This was the way things were. You were in a clan, and you stuck with that clan. Clans were so strict about their internal cohesiveness that very few, if any, ever talked to any of the other clans.
Everyone knew the Breeders were a boys' club. They fought playfully, bet each other to do idiotic, incomprehensibly dangerous tasks, on occasion wandered together looking for voluptuous orc ladies (said ladies, as it turns out, are almost impossible to find. One can not comprehend the difficulty it is to "pick up" one). Their boyish nature would be the death of them, the prudish messenger-orcs would preach. No one ever listened to them, though, and those who did soon forgot their words when the Breeders bombarded them with mud.
"Bet you're scared," Oinky, a leader of the Breeders, teased the innocent passers-by. Shows them what happens when you tare at a Breeder. "Bet you're afraid it'll be stronger than you. You're afraid it'll beat you up." "N-n-n-n-no we're not!" Glicky protested. Glicky and Smepherdon were not Breeder-orcs. They had no desire to be. They were simple-minded ironsmiths, working hard to make weaponry for the great army of Mordor. It was their fatal mistake that they wandered past the Breeders on hatching day.
Saruman the White approached. He smiled, nodded to Glicky and Smepherdon to hatch the first of his army. Smepherdon swallowed hard and Glicky sighed. They scrabble to the egg, swishing mud off of the.... Thing. The grabbed at the thin, plasticy substance that encased the Monster. Smepherdon looked up as he tore at it, turned to Saruman.
"Master, why does the Army hatch from.... Saran Wrap?"
These were his last words.
The Nazgul ripped through his shell and grabbed his two nursemaids by the throat, growling gloriously through their slow, hideously painful demise.
Saruman grinned and let a small laugh ring from his lips. Then they were almost ready. 'By the time the Fellowship arrives, they will be ready,' he thought, 'Waiting for them with death and destruction and pain. And tea. Wait.... tea?'
"Master," one of the orcs stumbled up to him, extending a cup and saucer, "You tea his ready."
Saruman took the tea, threw back his head and laughed.
"When they arrive they will all die!" With that, he raised the cup to his lips and sipped. Wickedly sipped.
A/N: Yeah so I tend to have a sort of twisted sense of humor. This chapter was sorta darkly funny. But hey, what do you think the Two Towers parody's gonna be like??? I await your reviews/flames/praise. Love and chocolate!!!