The joys of Istari weed
Gandalf and Aragorn sat at the highest point in Minas Tirith, taking a break from the festivities dedicated to the new king. It was indeed strange just how many parties could be crammed into the first month of his reign. Privately, Gandalf thought it a bit rich that Aragorn had been invited to 13 so far. Especially as 13 was his lucky number. It wasn't as if he was a regular wizard anyway, it wasn't so long ago he'd been promoted and everyone had forgotten! But then again, Aragorn had been his friend for a long time and he did make a great travelling companion. They had been through a lot together. He supposed he couldn't begrudge him a few celebration parties.
"So," (Gandalf was tired of sitting in silence) "now you're king, will you still have time for the rest of the lowly travellers? You know, with all your kingly duties to take care of."
"Of course, everything will be exactly the same, anyway, I'm not the only one with duties, remember who got upgraded last month?" Aragorn replied.
"True, true" Gandalf sighed, inwardly relieved he hadn't dreamed becoming a white wizard. "But will things be exactly the same?" he smirked, revealing a pouch beneath his cloak.
"That's not what I think it is, is it?" Aragorn asked, an excited look on his face.
"It depends, will things be the same my good king?" repeated the wizard.
"Of course, now hand some over before I go find one of your legendary fireworks and shove it where the light of Earendil does not shine!." Aragorn made as if to do just that. Gandalf did his best to smother his giggles and look imposing. He failed miserably and threw the pouch at his tormentor. Drawing his pipe, Aragorn filled it with the brownish substance from the bag and lit it.
"Ahhhh" he sighed as the smoke curled around his head, "that's the best pipe I've had in a long time."
"Well, don't hog it" Gandalf said, reaching for the bag himself.
Soon both the friends were puffing companionably. Both waiting for the full and amusing effects of the Istari weed to kick in.
