Disclaimer: Middle-Earth belongs to Tolkien, Monty Python belongs to either the Pythons or a bunch of llamas, M.S.S. and Martha Stewart belong to themselves, Inspector Gadget belongs to someone else, and the use of humorous footnotes in a fic belongs to Terry Pratchett.
A/N: This is the complete chapter. Special thanks go to French Pony and giantgreenbird for suggestions.
"As they came out again into open country at sundown they overtook an old man leaning on a staff, and he was clothed in rags of grey or dirty white, and at his heels went another beggar, slouching and whining."
-RotK, Many Partings
"Master, where are we going?" asked Wormtongue as they left Isengard.
"To leave Aragorn's wretched realm. Where do you think, fool?"
"Of course, we must leave enemy territory and join our reinforcements, where we will encourage them with the information we've gained."
The first day they were traveling, the weather was warm and sunny, their supplies were adequate, and Saruman and Wormtongue were content to let the Iraqi prattle on about their great victory. By the second day, their feet hurt and the three walked in silence. By the thirteenth day, their clothes were dirty and worn, their blisters had blisters, the food was starting to run low, and they were ready to gladly eat any minstrels they might find.
"Are we there, yet?" whined Wormtongue.
"No," replied one very peeved Istar.
"I'm hungry."
"I don't care."
"I'm thirsty."
"I'm sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone who gives a damn."
"I need to go to the bathroom."
"Use a bush."
"We're lost, aren't we?"
"No, of course we are not lost. I know exactly where we are going." Saruman glared at his follower. They were so lost. Saruman had no idea where he was. If you think it is difficult to get a Man to ask for directions, try getting a wizard to ask for them. "Go annoy the Iraqi." Wormtongue shrugged and turned to al-Sahaf.
"We're doomed." Al-Sahaf turned and grabbed Wormtongue's shoulders so that they faced each other.
"No, I guarantee we are not doomed, for how can we be doomed when Allah is on our side?" Gríma loosed himself from the Iraqi's grip.
"Saruman!" yelled Wormtongue, "He touched me!"
"Shut up, both of you, or so help me I will beat you to death with my staff and throw your broken bodies off the next cliff I come to!" Saruman asked himself for the hundredth time why he had to be stuck with these two. Why not a couple of Orcs? At least Orcs knew how to shut up and follow directions. The wizard only had a few minutes to ponder before he was interrupted again.
"That doesn't make very much sense. Why would you kill us and then drag the bodies all the way to a cliff?" questioned Wormtongue. "Would that not be a waste of effort?"
Saruman did not dignify that with a response. Couldn't they understand it was a figure of speech? It was bad enough yesterday when Wormtongue had decided to exhaust his whole repertoire of "An Elf, a Dwarf, and a Hobbit walk into a tavern" jokes, but this whining was excruciatingly painful. It was even worse than the time in Orthanc when al-Sahaf had tried to explain his religion.
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"So who is this 'Allah' person you keep referring to?" questioned Gríma. Wormtongue had finished counting the stones in their room, and Saruman seemed to be petting an imaginary white, fluffy cat [1] and muttering something along the lines of 'Next time, Gandalf.'"
"Allah is the one God, the great creator of everything."
Wormtongue thought quickly. This "Allah" sounded like Eru, who had created the Valar, the Maiar who served the Valar, and all of Middle-Earth. Morgoth, the most powerful Vala, along with his servant Sauron, challenged Eru for his power. The other Valar had been too stupid to join with Morgoth and had instead joined forces against him and banished him. The way the situation stood now, Wormtongue served Saruman, who served the Maia Sauron, who was going to take over Middle-Earth, in opposition to Eru. The Iraqi nutcase probably would not be pleased to hear this, and Wormtongue had no desire to have his sleep disturbed by shouts of, "Convert, you infidel!"
"Ah, the name we have for Allah is Eru." Wormtongue knew that the best lie was one which was almost the truth [2].
That made sense to Muhammed. After all, Allah, the God of Abraham, was given different names by the Christians and Jews.
"So our enemies do not believe in the name of Eru?"
"Not exactly," hedged Wormtongue. "They believe, but they have a twisted version of the truth."
"Ah, so they do not believe in the prophet Muhammed."
"Who, you? I didn't know you were a prophet."
"No, not me!" exclaimed al-Sahaf. "I am merely named after him. Truly, you have no idea what you are talking about."
"Then enlighten me." Gríma's voice was not sarcastic in the same way that dwarves were not bearded.
"A prophet is a man chosen by God to be his messenger. An angel spoke to Muhammed and revealed to him messages from God, which were later written down in the Koran."
"Angel?"
"An immortal spirit created by Allah." Wormtongue hoped he wasn't talking about Elves.
"That sounds like the Maiar, of which Sauron is one. We follow Sauron, who has remained true to the vision of Allah, while our enemies follow angels who have turned against Eru. They twist his vision to their own nefarious purposes." Gríma mentally congratulated himself.
"They follow the Great Satan!"
"Sure, anything you say."
"And the angel Sauron deigns to talk to men?"
"I talk to him all the time," interrupted Saruman, who had just started paying attention to the conversation.
"So you are a prophet! Truly Allah has blessed me by sending me to aid you instead of continuing to denounce the Americans, whose forces are so inept that they are already defeated."
"Um. . . yes?"
[1]He might have been petting an imaginary purple rabid mongoose for all Wormtongue knew, but he decided to give the wizard the benefit of the doubt.
[2]The worst lie, on the other hand, was "But ossifer, I'm totally sober!"
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Wormtongue then tried to organize a game of HORSE. He explained that every time you saw a horse, you had to call out the name of the breed. The first person to call out the correct name received all the letters in the name, and whoever had enough letters to spell "horse" first, won. The game was popular enough in Rohan[3], where it was even easier to play, as it was considered fashionable to decorate their saddles with signs such as "My other horse is Shadowfax," "I brake for Elves," and "Smile – The Valar love you," and players used the letters in the signs instead of breed names. The game worked less well (i.e. not at all) in the wild, as Saruman refused to play, al-Sahaf knew nothing about horses, and the only animals they saw were a few swallows.
As evening approached, the trio heard voices coming from the woods a little way beyond them.
"Where'd you get the coconut, Pip?"
"I found it."
"Found it? Here? The coconut's tropical?
"What do you mean?"
"Well, this is a temperate zone."
"The swallow may fly south with the sun, or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land." This was said by a third voice.
"Mr. Frodo, are you suggesting that coconuts migrate? My gaffer would have something to say about that."
A group of riders consisting of Gandalf, the Hobbits, Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, and other Elves from Rivendell and Lothlórien overtook the tired travelers. Wormtongue quickly called out the names of the horses, but he was still missing an "o." His shoulders slumped in defeat.
"You two are not even trying to play," he whined.
Gandalf rode over to Saruman, greeted the disgraced wizard, and pointed out that they were heading in the wrong direction.
"I knew that," sneered Saruman, "I was just testing you."
"It is you who are going in the wrong direction, by God . . ." Wormtongue ignored the Iraqi and looked at the company. He hungrily eyed a Rivendell Elf that had pulled out a small lute, and then he caught sight of a golden-haired Elf atop a magnificent stallion of a breed with which he was not familiar. He approached the Elf, who looked at him with pity, but did not move away.
"What kind of horse is that?" he asked politely. He thought Elves to be wretched creatures, and he certainly did not feel like being polite to this smug pretty-boy, but he wanted to win the game. His honor was at stake! Well, actually, he did not really have any honor, but his pride was at stake! . . Come to think about it, he was lacking in that department as well . . . But he wanted to win, damn it!
"You refer to Asfaloth?" asked a surprised Glorfindel. "He is . . ." The Elf did not complete his thought, as Gríma had started running toward the Iraqi.
" . . . We will crush you like infiOUCH!" Wormtongue had elbowed the former information minister in the stomach in order to announce his victory.
"In your face, Muhammed! I won!"
"Gríma, we must not show weakness in front of the enemy. We will stand united in Allah's name as they are destroyed from within by dissention and incompetence! The enemy is already condemned." Gríma threw his hands up in exasperation and then sat down on the ground, muttering to himself. Saruman, in his conversation with Galadriel and Gandalf, was not listening to his bickering followers, but perhaps they influenced him unconsciously.
"You have doomed yourselves, and you know it," he announced.
For her part, Galadriel knew that the arrogance and despair of Saruman and Wormtongue would prevent them from accepting help from the Elves. However, as she looked at the Iraqi, a momentary expression of surprise, noticed only by Celeborn, flitted briefly across her face [4]. In this stranger, she sensed not hatred but a strong sense of righteousness and hope.
*Muhammed* Al-Sahaf started and looked around for the source of the voice that seemed to come from inside his head. His eyes came to rest on the graceful Elven Lady whom he had noticed before but had not paid much attention. She seemed to glow with an ethereal light, and her face was more beautiful than a video released by Saddam Hussein announcing that America had surrendered. *Your companions are not what they seem. We are not your enemy.*
"Lies!" shouted al-Sahaf. "You think you can spread your infidel propaganda with voices in our heads, but it will not work, by God!" He started to say more, but as he looked at the angelic vision in front of him, his enthusiasm was strangely diminished. Wormtongue looked concerned. An eccentric Iraqi was one thing, but a psychotic Iraqi hearing imaginary voices in his head was something else.
Saruman finished cackling at Gandalf and the Elves, whacked Gríma with his staff for being lazy enough to sit down, and dragged the two men over to the Hobbits, where he tried to wheedle pipeweed out of Frodo and Merry. Wormtongue and al-Sahaf stood in front of the remaining Hobbits. Pippin clutched his coconut protectively while Sam tried (and failed) to imitate a chameleon by keeping one eye on Frodo and the other on the humans in front of him. Wormtongue continued to wail about how nobody cared about poor old Gríma. Sam looked suspiciously at the Iraqi.
"Where'd you come from? Gandalf told us about these other two, but he said nothing about you."
"I am Muhammed Saeed al-Sahaf, sent by Allah from the land of Iraq to aid the prophet Saruman by proclaiming the victory of the righteous followers of God over infidels such as you," he said with a not unfriendly smile.
"And I thought this was a big nut!" said Pippin, eying his coconut.
"You have no idea," interjected Wormtongue. The Iraqi stared at Gríma with a hurt expression.
"So what are you going to do with the coconut, Pippin?" asked Sam.
"'Dunno. Probably eat it or maybe try to prove that it's a mammal."
"What? Pippin, I know you've had more schooling than me, but I know plants, and I can tell you that is definitely no mammal."
"But it has fur and produces milk," argued Pippin with a cheeky grin to show that he was joking.
"Fool of a Took," laughed Sam.
Wormtongue and al-Sahaf were continuing their staring contest when Saruman kicked them both and bid them to follow him as he absconded with Merry's stolen pipeweed pouch. Pippin took offense on Merry's behalf and lobbed the coconut at Saruman. He was rewarded with a loud "thock," swearing from Saruman, another thud and a yell as Saruman took his anger out on Wormtongue, a glare from Gandalf, and congratulations from the other Hobbits.
As they reached the cover of the woods away from the riders, Saruman turned to the others an announced his intention to visit the Shire with an evil grin.
"There are no infidel Hobbits in the Shire!" Saruman gave the Iraqi a look that suggested he was stupider than a brain-damaged mountain troll on drugs.
"There are supposed to be Hobbits in the Shire. It's a good thing." Somewhere in an alternate reality, an uneasy feeling came over Martha Stewart as her trademarked phrase was used. She hand knitted doilies until it passed.
"Sorry, force of habit," shrugged al-Sahaf. "Yes, I see now what we are doing. They chase us here and we chase them there. We will besiege the infidel command. They are like a snake and we are going to cut it in pieces!"
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[3]The citizens in Rohan were crazy about their horses. In fact, the most popular street theater show chronicled the adventures of Lâcan, the brave horse (played by two men in a pantomime horse outfit). Here is a sample of typical dialogue:
Lâcan: Neigh.
Man: What's that, Lâcan? Theodred fell into a well?
Lâcan: Neigh.
Man: And there are Orcs after him?
Lâcan: Neigh.
Man: But these Orcs can be crushed by pushing a conveniently placed boulder off a cliff and then we can tie a rope to the boulder and pull Theodred out?
Lâcan: Neigh.
Man: Lâcan! There's no need to be so rude, even if this is the 42nd time Master Theodred as found himself in this same situation.
[4]When you live with someone for a couple thousand years, you tend to notice these things. Elven husbands are adept at distinguishing the "fine" that means "fine" from the "fine" that means "I'm not fine because you have done something to inadvertently offend me, and I am just pretending to be fine in order to let you stew in your guilt and if you don't know what you did wrong I am certainly not telling you." That ability was envied by some mortal men even more than immortality.
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A/N: Wow, my longest chapter ever. Saruman's line about being doomed came straight from the book. All the information about Islam came from www.usc.edu/ dept/ MSA/ introduction/ understandingislam.html (take out the spaces). I tried to be funny without being mean, but if I didn't pull it off, feel free to flame me. The information about Morgoth, the Valar, the Maiar, and Sauron came from The Silmarillion by Tolkien. The real M.S.S. has shown up in Baghdad! I still plan to have a couple of alternate endings, so that news will definitely affect one of them. The OFUM ending still has spots open if you want to guest star (details in chapter 6). As always, thanks to my wonderful reviewers!
Giantgreenbird – Sorry about that. A witch turned me into a disembodied hand. (pause) I got better! Thanks for your suggestion. I know you didn't mean it in a negative way. I think it adds to the story by explaining al-Sahaf's motivations a little bit better. I spent most of my vacation in the city and I had a blast. I saw the Statue of Liberty, the Intrepid, the Museum of the City of New York, the American Museum of Natural History, the Bronx Zoo, and a lot of relatives.
Alida-Fruit – Thank you for your reviews and pointing out your favorite lines. It always helps to know which lines work and which don't. I will gladly take a short review over no review any day. I'm glad you like my writing style, though so far it's sort of an imitation of Pratchett, Adams, and Monty Python.
French Pony – I really appreciate all of your reviews. Thank you for the license plate bingo suggestion. I don't think I would have been able to work in Glorfindel or Asfaloth otherwise. I love those corny jokes too. [A man walks into a bar with a pair of jumper cables around his neck. The bartender says, "You can't come in here with those!" "Oh, come on," pleads the man, "have a heart." "Well, okay," says the bartender, "But don't start anything!"]
Me – Fear not, the Python references will continue. The epilogue will be chock-full of them.
Hana – Don't worry about missing chapters. I know how it is. I'm glad you like the garden goblin. He'll show up again. They managed to get me, but I escaped. Hehe – remind me not to upset you on any roadtrips.
PrincessEilonwy – What? Your parents won't let you see it? That's cruel and unusual! (Actually, I didn't see it until my first year in college, either.) Thanks for your suggestions, and for volunteering. There will be one more chapter after this, and then I'll post all of the alternate endings at once, so you should turn up within two updates. I had a great time in New York.
Wilwarin – Thanks. I'm honored to be on your favorites list.
Bubonic Woodchuck – Very cool username. Thanks.
Velaineil – Thanks, I had a great time. Hehe - Is that a good "oh, my" or a bad "oh, my."