The Great Middle earth Game Show, Take 3
by Dene4 & Simply Sara
Disclaimer: Neither of us own Lord of the Rings or any characters recognizable herein.
This one was almost finished before I found part 2, so I thought, "Hey! Why not update right away?"
Enjoy! (We hope)
Although certain individuals viewed both the initial attempts and all subsequent attempts at creating a game show for Middle earth's inhabitants as somewhat ill-starred shall we say, certain other individuals thought that Pippin had had a good idea, Merry had done a little better with that idea, but they both were just a little too nice and not at all cunning enough to pull it off.
Well…okay. So it was really only one certain other individual who thought this. Most people knew him as Saruman and Saruman was sure that he could pull off the 'game show gig' as he put it, and triumph where some silly and witless hobbits had failed miserably. His words, not mine.
Anyway, he had again gathered, or at least he'd tried to gather, those lovely individuals who'd made the first shows such a success. Saruman was a firm believer in the use of heavy and frequent sarcasm to achieve his ends, you see.
By now word had travelled far and wide about the 'game show' and it had in fact acquired quite a following among the inhabitants of Middle earth. Unfortunately, all were hard-pressed to try and convince the game's past participants to participate once more. But Saruman had his ways, and they were good—in a manner of speaking.
It had been impossible to keep the plans and preparations for the show from being found out, and so rumors had spread like wildfire through all Middle earth, keeping virtually everyone nattering on endlessly about who would host, who would show, who would skip, etcetera, etcetera. There had been reports of constant changes to the official list of players, each new "official" list grabbing the attention of all.
One of the most popular rumors, however, (much to Saruman's chagrin) was that a certain Samwise Gamgee would be hosting. Of course, this had the whole Shire in an uproar, all hobbits in avid support of one of their own being the host of such a prestigious and esteemed show. Cough. Saruman naturally did his best to nip this rumor.
Reporters had tried to reach Sam for comment, but he'd declined all interviews and denied reports that he was in fact the new host. Pippin had given up hope and Merry was not too keen on trying his hand at such a "vicious business" again, as he'd been quoted as declaring in several newspapers, including the Pelennor Post and the Mirkwood Times. This left most wondering who the next host would be. This made Saruman cackle evilly.
Finally the day had come, the would-be contestants gathered expectantly backstage, some of them noshing on various snacks, some of them chattering idly, some of them silently waiting, all of them hidden from the hoards of screaming fans waiting before the stage.
Suddenly, the curtain arose, the screams heightened, and out stepped Saruman, stridently moving towards the podium standing on the left of the stage. The crowds went suddenly still. Saruman gave them all a rather frightening grin and then began. "Hello, and welcome to the Great Middle earth Game Show. I am your host, Sar—".
The rest of what he said was drowned out in the sounds of fangirlish wailing.
"SAAAAAAAMMM!!!" a voice from the crowd screamed.
"BOOOOOO! Where's SAM?!" another proclaimed.
"We want SAM!!!" another protested.
Saruman raised an eyebrow fixed them all with an even glare.
"SAaaaM!" another voice piped up.
"Humph!" declared Saruman indignantly, "I'm your host whether you like it or not!"
"NO WAY! SAM! NOW!" screeched another member of the audience. Saruman gritted his teeth menacingly and fixed them with his best Balrog impersonation.
The crowd was now getting out of control, all of them screaming in favor of Samwise. Saruman was not one to accept defeat easily, but the fangirls of Middle earth had a reputation for getting to just about anyone. He waited a few more moments before growling and making his way offstage.
Meanwhile, the cries of the incensed fans had carried backstage to where Sam was trying his best not to look intimidated. Merry and Frodo were trying to get him to go out and host.
"Go, Sam! Go!" Merry implored. "They're calling for you! They want you to host the show. You can do it!"
"I can't. I couldn't" Sam insisted.
Frodo couldn't help but admire his friend's humility and timidity when it came to large crowds of screaming people. "Go on, Sam," he said softly. "This is your chance to shine." He winked.
Sam sighed but smiled bravely and made his way onstage, talking to himself under his breath, presumably trying to steel himself for the swarms of fans awaiting him.
As he walked past, Boromir couldn't help but notice Sam's personal dialogue.
"See," he said turning to Faramir, "I'm not the only one who talks to myself." Faramir just gave him a look. Denethor, who was sitting nearby, rolled his eyes, but made no verbal comment.
Sam stepped out from behind the curtain and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright lights. Saruman had gone all out in building the set. They didn't call him the Many-Coloured for nothing.
Screams of joy echoed all around.
"IT'S SAM!!!" they all seemed to be screaming. Sam smiled bravely and hid a grimace. He stopped before the podium and paused for a brief moment, trying to gather his thoughts about him in the midst of all the noise. He straightened the papers on the stand, and looked towards the crowd.
"Uh…Hello," he began.
"HE TALKED!!!" someone screamed out. He tried not to make a face.
"Welcome to the Great Middle earth Game Show; I'm Samwise Gamgee and I'll be your host this evening.
The screaming continued.
"WE LOVE YOU!" a voice called out. Sam blushed, but smiled boldly, getting used to his surroundings.
"Well, if you could, I'd like to ask you to quiet down a bit so we can begin."
The audience obediently went silent. Sam grinned, starting to like this.
"Well, okay then. Let's get started and meet our contestants, shall we? First we have Gandalf…" Sam began pausing for screams between each name he pronounced: Merry, Pippin, Boromir, Faramir, Denethor, Eomer, Eowyn, Gimli, and Legolas. "And our 12th contestant this evening is…" Sam looked down at the paper "Alithriel," he said, wondering who that was. An Elven maiden made her way to the chair nearest Legolas. Gimli stood.
"Who in all of Arda is that?" he inquired. Legolas glowered fiercely at him.
"This just happens to be my girlfriend, in fact," he proclaimed, daring the dwarf to discount her any further. Gimli narrowed his eyes but made no further comments.
Sam turned, a little worried, but continued. "Alright. Now that—" he stopped abruptly. "Where's Pippin?" he asked. Merry looked around nervously. "Well, he was backstage eating with Frodo and me and then…I…well I haven't seen him since." The crowd seemed to be seated on the edge of their seats. Sam made a face.
"This game doesn't work without 12 people!" he exclaimed.
Faramir sighed and stood. "I think I may know where to find him."
Sam eyed him curiously. "Could you hurry?" Faramir nodded and swiftly left leaving Boromir looking confused.
Sam turned back to the audience. "Sorry about this brief delay." The crowd simply stared towards the stage hungrily. Sam tried not to be nervous.
"Are you alright?" Legolas asked, looking towards Alithriel.
"Oh don't you worry about me, dollface. I'll be fine," she crooned back.
"Yes, you are," Legolas coolly replied. They both giggled. It was lucky Boromir wasn't seated near them. Eomer, fortunately, had a stronger stomach, not to mention poorer hearing, and Gimli was wise enough to just ignore them both.
Faramir returned within a few minutes, Pippin slumping along behind him.
"Is this who you were looking for?" Faramir inquired.
"Pippin!" Merry exclaimed. "Where were you?"
Pippin forced a smile.
"He was in my closet eating my scarves. Again!" Faramir answered for him.
Everyone made a face.
"Um…they were red," Pippin explained. "They looked like bacon."
"Yeah…well now I don't have any more scarves!" Faramir cried.
"Eowyn could make you some more," Pippin suggested.
Eowyn glared. "Excuse me?! Me knit scarves? I don't think so!"
Eomer stood and fixed Pippin with a fierce stare. "You just made my sister mad! Brace yourself!" The crowd watched the drama unfold, avidly awaiting the next move.
Faramir moved in front of Pippin. "I'm sure he didn't mean—" Faramir was suddenly silenced as Eomer's fist connected squarely with his stomach.
"Oomph," went Faramir. Clunk went his head against the table as he fell to the floor.
"Oops," stated Eomer flatly.
"Look what you did!" Boromir exclaimed rising and going to his brother. "Now he's unconscious!"
"I was aiming for him!" Eomer said by way of apology, pointing at Pippin, who had quickly retreated to his seat. Boromir fixed him with a cool stare.
"If he's dead, we can burn him," Denethor proclaimed, standing up and coming over to Faramir's side to inspect the damage.
Boromir sighed exasperated. "Dad, he's just unconscious."
"I was just saying," Denethor replied.
"IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE?!" Sam yelled, smart hobbit that he was.
Gandalf stood and came forward. "Step aside," he said to Eomer, Boromir, and Denethor. Boromir and Eomer moved out of his way. Denethor stood and held out a hand, stopping the wizard.
"Why should I let you touch my kid?" he inquired, squarely meeting Gandalf's gaze.
"Because I'm gonna help him?"
"Was that a question or a statement?" Denethor inquired icily.
Gandalf rolled his eyes. "What did it sound like?"
Denethor narrowed his eyes menacingly but didn't answer.
Gandalf sighed. "A statement," he said huffily, "Happy now?"
"No," Denethor said forcefully, but he moved to the side.
"Thanks," Gandalf said bitingly. Denethor made faces at his back. Boromir tried not to laugh. Eomer just looked worried.
"Is he gonna be okay?" he inquired with no small amount of trepidation. Gandalf gave him a look. Eomer met it evenly.
"Just give me a minute, okay?" Eomer nodded.
Gandalf rested a hand on Faramir's head and whispered something. Denethor crossed his arms.
"By the power vested in me, Brother Faramir, be healed!" He proclaimed loudly. Denethor raised his eyebrows.
"Uh, he's my brother," Boromir muttered.
"We know that," Frodo said, and then added, "stupid" under his breath. Unfortunately, Denethor heard him.
"Don't call him stupid!" he said.
"I think I earned the right to call him whatever I want," Frodo stated evenly.
"Uh…he's still my brother," Boromir pointed out intelligently.
"Quiet," Denethor said, rolling his eyes, getting exasperated not so much with Boromir, but with everything else. "Stupid," he muttered to himself.
"Oh hold up!" Frodo said, "You just called him stupid!"
"He's my son," Denethor returned. "Besides," he mimicked, "I think I have the right to call him whatever I want." Frodo narrowed his eyes dangerously. Meanwhile, Faramir had returned to his seat, a little dazed, Boromir and Eomer aiding him.
"You still called him stupid," Frodo said.
"Wait, who's stupid?" Boromir inquired, seated once more.
"You!" Frodo and Denethor said in unison. Denethor gave Frodo a dangerous look.
"I said, don't call him stupid!" Denethor proclaimed.
"ALRIGHT!" Sam said forcefully, sensing this was getting way out of hand. "That is ENOUGH!"
Everyone got quiet. They only got paid if Sam asked at least 3 questions before the hour was up. Money: the great silencer.
"Everyone, take your seats once more, if you please. Thank you. Now, let's begin. First question: Who is the greatest at killing orcs?
Alithriel stood and raised her hand.
"Legolas," she stated simply. Gimli rolled his eyes.
Legolas put a hand on his heart, touched. "Oh, thank you, dearest!" Alithriel smiled dazzlingly.
"Hey!" Boromir said all of a sudden. "Denethor and Frodo called me stupid." Denethor looked at his eldest son disbelievingly. Faramir just looked lost. Frodo rolled his eyes.
"There is no way he's going to be able to ask and find the right answer for 3 questions in the next 10 minutes," Denethor remarked to the person on his left, who happened to be Frodo.
Frodo looked at him for a moment. "True," he replied, sensing that Denethor had put the argument behind them. "No money."
"Yep, sure looks that way. What do you say we leave, go get a few drinks?" Denethor inquired looking at Merry, Pippin, and Frodo now.
The hobbits nodded enthusiastically and stood, Denethor following suit.
"Uh…"Sam sputtered, looking speechless.
"Sorry," Frodo said, "We just can't take it anymore. You tried." Merry nodded.
"Catch you later," Pippin said. The four exited quickly. "PARTY!" One of them (presumably NOT Denethor) screamed once they were offstage. The crowd looked ready to kill. Sam grinned nervously.
"Well…" he said, "The answer is actually umm…." But no one was listening.
"We are obviously surrounded by inferiors, dearest. Shall we depart?" Alithriel inquired of Legolas.
"Of course, love. Whatever you like." Alithriel grinned brightly. The pair made their way offstage and as they were passing Gimli, Alithriel casually dropped a rock on his head (His helmet was being dry-cleaned). He slumped in his seat.
"Not again!" wailed Sam.
"Don't look at me!" warned Gandalf, "I've had enough for one day." Sam pushed a button on the podium and some men with a stretcher came in and whisked Gimli away.
Boromir leaned over to Eowyn. "Hey! I could tell you some funny stories about my brother!" Eowyn gave him a look.
"Faramir?"
"Only brother I got!" Boromir said. Eowyn seemed to weigh the proposition carefully.
"Boromir," Faramir complained. "No! That's not even funny!" Eowyn glanced at the would-be subject of Boromir's storytelling.
"Sure," she said smiling, in Faramir's direction. Faramir forced a smile. "We could get some ale or something, too!" She added.
Eomer raised an eyebrow. "You drink, now? When did this happen?" Eowyn rolled her eyes.
"Are you coming with us or not?" Eomer stared at her a moment longer before shrugging and rising from his seat.
Faramir gave his brother a look. "You just wait! I'm coming, too!" Boromir shrugged and turned to leave, Eowyn and Eomer following. "Ugh…I don't believe this," Faramir muttered, catching up.
"Gandalf," Sam intoned sadly, "I believe this show is cursed."
Gandalf nodded sagely. "You better leave before the hordes attack."
Sam peeked at the crowds behind his shoulder. They looked very angry.
"Good idea."
He zipped offstage.
Gandalf turned and faced them all. "As you can see," he said, "this show is merely set up for failure. It is NEVER going to work. You may all now return to your previous engagements and/or alternative activities. Thank you." The crowd began making sounds that sounded an awful lot like feral snarls and the hunting calls of certain species of rabid quadrupeds, most prominently the warg.
But Gandalf was a wizard after all. He had nothing to fear.
But why leave it to chance?
He bolted offstage in the most dignified manner possible.
Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, all of you! It's a treat to hear what you think!
Reviewer Response:
Celias23—YAY! A new reviewer! Very happy to hear you are enjoying this! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too.
Erestor—Sam and his good old frying pan…you just have to love him : ). Denethor certainly is a trip, isn't he? =D Thanks for the kind review!
IrethAncalime3791—Aww, RE's not junk! = ) It's quite funny actually! It's almost like you HAVE to look "everywhere" before you can find anything. You should see me try to keep tabs on my library card. You think I could hold on to something like that at least. Faramir was supporting his dad for the sake of the line, I think. At least that's what my sister tells me. Saruman is rather funny guilty! : ) Glad you found it laughable! We certainly try. Is this soon enough? [grins]
We haven't yet begun drafting a fourth part, so if any of you have ideas, you know who to call! ; )
God bless!
Sara & Dene4
