Chapter 4 – Special Guest Directors

(Welcome to the Special Guest Director chapter of Gandalf's Early Years. First up, please give a nice warm welcome to Quentin Tarantino, director if such films as Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs. He has graciously agreed to start us off. Over to you, Quentin!)

Gandalf and Elrond sat together as the half-elf drove the cart down the dusty road approaching the Grey Havens, with Dingo bouncing about in the rear. They were heading to where Cirdan the elven Shipwright lived. He had something the wizard wanted: Narya, the Ring of Fire.

They were still a few minutes away, so Gandalf decided to make some idle conversation.

"When I was on vacation overseas, I noticed some little differences."

"Like what?" asked Elrond, concentrating on the road ahead.

"Well, you know what they call a quarter pounder with cheese?"

"No, what do they call a quarter pounder with cheese?" asked Elrond dutifully.

"A Royale with cheese."

"Really? Why don't they just call it a quarter pounder?"

Gandalf responded, "I think it's because they have the metric system. No 'pounds'."

Dingo, listening to the odd exchange, asked, "What's the metric system? And what's a quarter pounder?"

Gandalf turned in his seat, dislodging his staff that was tucked under his arm. Just as he was about to speak, they ran over a pot hole in the road and the staff lit up brightly and a beam of light lanced out from the gnarled end and went hurtling at the hobbit. Unfortunately for our short hairy friend, his head exploded in a bloody release of brains, skull and tissue.

"Oh man!" cried Elrond. "Look what you've gone and done!"

Gandalf turned back to Elrond and said, "It was an accident! If you could drive better, we wouldn't have hobbit brains all over my cart!"

(Okay, okay, thank you Mr Tarantino! That's more than enough violence for one chapter. Who's next? Oh yes, one of my personal favourites, M. Night Shyamalan, writer and director of the brilliant films, The Sixth Sense, Unbreakable, Signs and The Village. Mr M. - what the hell does the 'M' stand for? - please, continue.)

Gandalf and Elrond approached the residence of Cirdan. At the door, they stood silently, watching each other without speaking a word. Finally, the door opened and Cirdan stepped out.

"I see dead people," he said.

"What?" asked Gandalf and Elrond.

"I see dead people. All the time."

"Where?"

"In your cart. That hobbit's dead, isn't he?" he asked, pointing at the bloody cart in the distance.

(Alrighty then, I guess Mr M. is better on the big screen than in a fan fic. NEXT! -pause- Well, this is a surprise! Mr George Lucas is here! Apparently he has some time off during the production of Star Wars Episode III. He says he wants a shot, so Mr Lucas, do your worst!)

Cirdan pulls back his cloak, revealing a red and black face, with tiny little horns dotted across his cranium. He pulls out a brightly coloured stick and makes a fsszzz sound as he holds it out before him. As he waves it, he goes whirrr, whirrr.

"Wipe them out. All of them," he says to himself.

Gandalf pulls out his staff and Elrond grabs a broom leaning against the wall of Cirdan's house. The wizard and elf lord circle the shipwright, eyeing him warily while spinning their weapons gracefully before them.

The shipwright lunges at them, but they manage to beat off his attack and press their own against him. Cunningly, Cirdan pulls out another brightly coloured stick and makes another assault.

"Gandalf, I am your father!" he says.

"What? Nooooo!"

(Oh no you don't, not again. And by the way, George, it looks like you've run out of money for your special effects. Now, who else can I make up... I mean, invite to take over the chapter? I know, the amazing Shantazzar, author of 'LOTR From The Nazgul Eyes'! Give it a try, dude!)

Nine F-16's fly by over head, strafing the ground. From the last jet a voice can be heard, "I think I spilled my coffee!"

Jet number five, piloted by the Nazgul everyone loves to call Larry, says, "You and your coffee, Kenneth."

"Cut the chatter, you two," interjected the voice of the Witch King in jet number one. But even he was drowned out as Death himself broadcast across the waves:

"What about best out of three?"

(Maybe not. Thanks anyway, Shantazzar - by the way, check out his great fics on this same site. Finally, I think I'll hand the reins over to... ME!)

As the crowd of extra writers and directors dispersed, Cirdan, Elrond and Gandalf were left alone at the shipwright's house and workshop. They each looked at each other, sizing each other up. Eventually, Cirdan asked:

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure," they answered and followed him into the building. They settled into some nice cosy chairs and enjoyed some nice herbal tea that Cirdan poured for them.

"Now," said Cirdan, "What do you fellows want?"

"Your Ring," stated Gandalf, bluntly.

"Okay. Anything else?"

"What? You're just going to give it to me?"

"Sure, why not?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Cool." But as Gandalf reached out a hand to take Cirdan's Ring, Elrond spoke up.

"Can I have it?" he asked.

"Um, okay. Why not!" said the shipwright who then leant over towards Elrond, offering the Ring.

"No, no! It's mine!" pleaded Gandalf.

"I'll give you twenty gold coins for it," offered the cunning half-elf.

Cirdan sat back, toying his Ring, considering Elrond's offer. "And what would you pay me for it?" he asked Gandalf.

"What is this, an auction? Okay, okay. I'll give you fifty," offered the wizard.

"One hundred," countered Elrond, a little smug smile crossing his lips. He watched Gandalf open his mouth to up the offer, but quickly added, "Curry..."

And amazingly, Gandalf's stomach churned loudly and his face paled. "You bastard," he said and ran swiftly from the room.

"Too easy. Okay, Cirdan, I'll take the Ring now," and Elrond produced a pouch of gold and passed it to the elf, who in turn gave Elrond the Narya, the Ring of Fire.

"Nice doing business with you," said Cirdan.

"A pleasure, indeed," replied Elrond, standing up and leaving Cirdan's abode.

That should screw up Gandalf's plans, thought Elrond. I never did like him.