Disclaimer : all the characters and places belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Any reference to the Sharpe series would be totally voluntary! Thanks a lot for the few faithful readers, I am very pleased by your reviews! Hope you'll enjoy!
The Attempted Tale of the Crook Wizard"Errrr… » the Host said, avoiding Eowyn's way.
"Please stop chasing the guests away.
It is a mere tale contest, not a gathering of rioters."
Eowyn winced at the word. "Are there some gamblers,
Who would bet on our Host's life expectancy
In a duel? Or do you think the discrepancy
Between his bonhomie and my calibre
Too impressive? I do not want to lose my temper,
For fear of hurting our dear food furnisher!"
Eowyn had turned into a punisher.
Some members of the company grumbled,
But no one dared helping the humbled,
Deeply mortified Tom Bombadil, who whimpered.
But, all of a sudden, Saruman raised and simpered:
"May I tell my story now, great warrior lady?"
Eowyn threw out her chest, for flattered was she deeply.
"You may, Master Wizard", she replied with grace.
"Now, all of you, look at me in the face,"
Saruman said with bulging eyes. "I want you to listen
To my soft and swift and sweet voice. My eyes glisten,
Imagine they are two shimmering lakes,
Follow my lips, don't worry, they are not snakes!
Look at my grand nose, it is a solid mountain,
My long white hair are a snow coat without stain."
Saruman paused to scrutinise his oratory's faces.
All the members of the company bore traces
Of a profound spiritual remoteness.
The wizard smiled at that quietness.
"My voice is the most delicious beverage,
that removes all the problems of old age.
My dear cattle, do you still follow me?"
A mess of approving "mmm" came immediately.
"I am a gentle man, no harm have I ever done,
Betrayals, assassinations or tortures did I commit none."
Saruman, at that statement that was easily accepted,
Laughed heartily. "A great pureness was I granted,
When I was a young man, to spread peace and love
Over the green lands of Middle Earth, a dove
Would be my nearest companion, gentle and wise.
Many times did I see the wonderful Sun rise,
Over the meadows and hills, or
Destroying the shadows of Mordor..."
As if stung by a furious bumblebee,
Boromir jumped on his feet and said without glee:
"One does not simply walk into Mordor!
It is a place swarming with stinky Or..."
"Shut up, you silly man!" Saruman cried. "Don't interrupt..."
"A place ruled by a gnarled wizard who went bankrupt
With his lord and master the nasty evil Sauron,
Who is nothing more than a gummy eye on..."
"Will you shut your mouth, you liar!"
Saruman was as infuriated as fire,
He clenched his fists and seemed ready to implode.
"That servile wizard is even more pathetic than a toad!"
Boromir went on. "He's nothing more than a decrepit..."
Saruman couldn't bear more of those words: "Stop it!"
And, with his stick, he struck Boromir on the head.
The poor man fell headlong on the floor, nearly dead.
The rest of the company barely took care of the scene.
Saruman, less furious, coughed his throat clean.
He was pleased because his audience was still mesmerised.
"Now lads your gold and silver hiding places will be memorised
By my care. Do not fear me, all I want is for your own good.
What is the use of all your precious money? For food?"
The wizard's eyes shone with cupidity.
"No, the Host is generous, he won't let you hungry.
So give me your confidence, and I will cherish your treasures!
I will use them for the inhabitants' pleasures..."
At those words, Boromir painfully regained consciousness.
"Mordor is a place of death, a land of horribleness...
One does not simply walk into Mordor, one trembles,
One prays all the gods so that we don't turn into crumbles,
One thinks about the will we didn't write,
One thinks about the wonders of nature, the snow white,
The warm Sun, the gentle breeze, the green grass,
The foggy dew, the unravelled clouds, the beloved lass,
All those treasures we left behind and found commonplace;
Never will we be able to find again those marvels of grace.
Ah, I miss the song of the lark in the sycamore tree,
I long for the twinkling river where plays the fairy!
I wish I were a grain of sand, blown by the warm wind,
Carried o'er the hills and far away, through the mist and rain,
Nevermore will the silly wars be my bane..."
With a "ouch", he fell on the floor anew.
Saruman had struck him as if he was a personified flu.
"Will you let me speak, young insolent!"
He growled. "I won't wait 'til the crescent!"
The grumpy wizard raved at Boromir for a while.
Then he rolled up his sleeves and, with a sly smile:
"Give me your money, you fat-bellied Host!
And you too stupid stinky elves, I'll have it at any cost!
And you, nasty little hair-footed hobbits! And you ridiculous dwarf!"
I will lead you to the end of a wharf,
And push you into the cold and dull waters,
For I enjoy above all cruelties slaughters!"
Suddenly, Saruman stopped. His blood ran cold.
He had just realised he had been far too bold.
He had made a mistake. A terrible, stupid, dangerous mistake.
He suddenly saw himself tied to a stake,
Trying to catch flies with his mouth for a long time.
He dared looking at his audience. It was simply sublime:
There was a wide range of bulging-eyed gaping guests.
Shocked by what they had just heard, they gathered heavy chests,
Aiming at smashing in that old honey-tongued wizard.
If their eyes were thunderbolts, Saruman would have been hit hard.
"You vile swindler! Old crook! I will have you eat your beard!"
Shouted the fair Lady Galadriel. "I will be your idol revered!
You will love me and waste away! You will desire my beauty,
You will long for getting a look of my generous person, any..."
"STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!"
Gandalf yelled. "Of a lonely mountain I will climb to the top,
If that irritating mess you go on! I want you to be quiet!
And you, old fool, don't rip us off, or Death by you will be met!"
Saruman gasped and turned paler than an elf's tooth.
He bent his head with shame and remained silent.
Gandalf grumbled:"We'd rather the help of a storyteller rent!"