Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos
beta Marigold  

Chapter 4
Shiny Larksong or Bravely Goodheart?

"Saruman!" Gandalf's voice rang out through Orthanc, come forth!"

No reply.

"Come forth!" Gandalf beat upon the door once more and it rang with a hollow sound, "Saruman!"

"Well?" A voice came from inside. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?" Its tone was that of a kindly heart aggrieved by injuries undeserved.

"Oh for pity's sake!" Gandalf pushed open the door, "I haven't got time for this, there's too much to do today."

He marched into the octagonal shaped room followed by Aragorn. Legolas came after, blinking at the lack of light, and Gimli ducked down through the portal. Merry and Pippin peeped round the door, while Gwaihir, Coedwigwr the Tree Surfer and Gorawen the Cloud Carrier circled around the tower of Orthanc looking majestic and threatening and rather bored.

No one was in the room. "Where's he got to?" Gandalf fumed, "I haven't got all day!" He marched back out again, followed by his entourage.

Merry and Pippin were about to follow until something caught Pippin's eye. "Wow, Merry!" He grabbed his cousin's elbow and pulled him back, "Look at the size of that marble!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Gandalf stormed back outside and shouted up at the tower once more, "Come on Saruman, I need to speak with you. There have been some orders from on top and the long and the short of it is, I've got your job!"

A figure finally emerged from a balcony and snarled down at the group. "What do you want with my boss, he's a little tied up just now."

"And you are?" Aragorn asked, quite politely, for all the man's snarling.

"Grima – Grima Wormtongue – and yes, I am a baddie. The name is a bit of a giveaway don't you think?" The man pushed his lank greasy hair back from his pus-soaked eyes, "I was thinking of changing it to something else. Maybe Shiny Larksong, or Bravely Goodheart, you know, just to throw people off a bit. What do you think?"

"I like the first one," Legolas admitted, "although it might be a bit too obvious."

"It's all totally irrelevant," Gandalf sighed. "Your boss has been made redundant, I'm his new replacement and there's no place for you on my staff – or under it for that matter."

"Why? What have you got against me?" Grima sounded most indignant, "I've fulfilled every aspect of the job; winning over Théoden and getting Rohan on our side."

"Yes well," Gandalf was growing impatient. "There's been a change of policy on that one. Unlike the previous administration, I don't want to rule Middle-earth, too time-consuming. So you can go back to Théoden and tell him to buck up, Orthanc is no longer interested in Rohan and there's no need to go to war because everything should be back to normal by tonight."

"Oh," Grima shrugged his bent and twisted shoulders, "I can do that. Oh and would it be all right if I stopped for a makeover on the way down? I'm getting pretty sick of this image. I think a haircut, some physiotherapy on the back and a manicure would be nice."

"Yes, and I'd rethink the colour scheme," Legolas put in, "black is so not you."

"And go with the name change," Aragorn suggested, "and try to cut back on the whinging and cringing."

"A trip to the orthodontist wouldn't go amiss either." Gimli added.

"Fair enough," Grima, or as he now preferred to be called, Shiny, backed away from the balcony and his voice could be heard echoing inside the Orthanc Tower. "I'm off now, my resignation will be in the post. It's just not really working out for me. No, no need for a leaving party. Oh and before I go, there are some people here to see you, I think you'd better talk to them yourself. Apparently, there's been some restructuring within the organisation."

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"Pip, I don't think you ought to take it," Merry pulled Pippin back as he made a grab for the oversized marble. "Someone is bound to notice."

"Possibly," Pippin conceded, "but we'll be long gone by then. That's the beauty of travelling by eagle. Besides, I need it – I really do."

"What for?" Merry was accustomed to things Pippin thought he needed. They generally consisted of things that were of no use to him but that he wanted. "You've already got fifty three and a half marbles."

"That's just the point," Pippin pouted, "I haven't any more. I lost them all to Fatty Bolger last week, well except for the half one, he didn't want that, said it didn't roll very well. But honestly Merry, if you got it just on the right side and flicked it really hard, it went like anything."

"Were you playing dobblers – for keepsies?" Merry asked sternly. "I've told you before about taking on Fatty at dobblers."

"No," Pippin's voice was full of wounded indignation, "we were playing Ring Taw and I was winning until Fatty accidentally ate my best taw, and it was a cat's eye!"

"Well if he ate it," Merry was very confused now, "how come you let him win?"

"How could I beat him without my best taw?" Pippin wondered sometimes where Merry kept his brain. "Where do you keep your brain Merry?"

"In my head, Pip," Merry resented the implication, "unlike you, who apparently has lost all his marbles."

"Well there you are," Pippin announced triumphantly, "I obviously have to take this one, then I can swap it for all my others back. Fatty won't be able to resist such a big marble and it's a blood alley too! He loves alleys."

"Go on then," Merry finally capitulated, "only wrap it up in something and don't get any fingerprints on it – just in case you get caught. You can say it just slipped into your cloak by accident."

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"Well that went off better than I hoped." Gandalf, once more astride Gwaihir was feeling good at last about the day's schedule. "Saruman didn't seem too bothered about me being promoted over him. I think he was looking rather exhausted by the whole business anyway."

"Where to now?" Aragorn, seated comfortably behind the Wizard was flicking through some old parchments. "I had wondered about going to Gondor and applying to be King. Apparently I do have a very strong claim to the throne there."

"Not sure you'd want to butt in just now," Legolas was seated with Gimli aboard Coedwigwr the Tree Surfer but could hear the others' conversation quite well.

"Legolas is right," the giant dwarf added, "that Boromir chappie didn't sound the sort who would want any interference."

"Well there must be something useful I can do." Aragorn went on, "I was quite content just to go to the Prancing Pony for the day and have few pints. Now you've got me interested in this whole battle for Middle-earth quest and I have the feeling I'm missing something. Perhaps we should check on the Corsairs of Umbar – you know, just to see what they're up to."

"We could do that," Gandalf agreed, "but last time I looked they were all at sea and not too bothered about what was going on around Minas Tirith."

"It's just that I feel I need to fight a war or something if I'm to claim the throne," Aragorn pondered. "It wouldn't feel right otherwise."

"I know what you mean," Gandalf said, "why don't we just stop by the White City then and see how things are going?"

"I'm up for it," Gimli said and nodded his agreement.

"Or we could look in on those dead people in the mountain," Legolas suggested, "they're always good for a laugh."

"All right," Aragorn perked up, "we can do all that and be back at Barliman's before closing."

"Yes," Gandalf was always up for a pint, "I think Barliman's ale…" The Wizard broke off as he suddenly noticed something very odd, "Peregrin Took! What on earth have you got in your pocket?"

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Saruman sat in his chamber. "Gandalf promoted eh! Well, well! Can't say I'm surprised, always was a bit of a blue-eyed Wizard, even though he's grey."

Saruman reached out his hand. He felt strange, something was missing, as if a part of him was gone and he felt very alone. He was getting old. Age was creeping into his bones. His hands were gnarled with the passage of time and his mind felt tiny droplets seeping away, a constant drip, drip, drip, until all that seemed important had fled. "I'm sure there was something I was supposed to do," he sighed.

A wizened orc with pink eyes slouched into his chamber and gazed at him expectantly. When there was no reply he coughed and then spoke. "What orders from Mordor my Lord? What does the Eye command?"

"What?"

"The Eye my Lord, you know the thing we gets our orders from. What does it command?"

Saruman looked around with a bewildered gaze, "Oh nothing, nothing at all."

"Doesn't need us to build Him an army worthy of Mordor then?" Pink Eyes asked.

"No – not a word," Saruman shrugged. "In fact, I think He's gone."

"Fine," the orc sniffed loudly, "well me and the boys'll be getting off then."

"Yes," Saruman spoke to the orc's retreating back, "you do that, and thanks for everything."

"I must admit, I never thought redundancy would feel like this," he muttered to the gloom. "I knew I'd have time on my hands, but this is wonderful, so peaceful, nothing to do but think and read." Saruman had several novels he had not even started yet to say nothing of writing his autobiography, modestly titled, 'Saruman the Great, Wonderful and Wise (Orc's Choice of Wizard for 376 consecutive years!)'

"I'll just have a little nap," Saruman said to himself, "then I'll call the plumber in the morning, see about that leak." He yawned hugely, "No rush though, no rush – the water will do the trees good."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Boromir touched down lightly on the top level of Minas Tirith. "Thank you a thousandfold Meneldor the young and swift," Boromir bowed to his erstwhile steed, "May the breeze bear you gently and the rain walk in fields afar. Your service to me cannot be repaid, but ask of me aught that is in my power to grant and it is yours."

Meneldor considered for a moment. "I don't suppose you have any seedcake?"

"Well not on me," Boromir agreed, "but if you wait a short while I shall have our cooks research the recipe and make a batch worthy of the greatest Windlords."

"Fair enough," Meneldor perched up on the highest pinnacle of the White City and tucked his head under his wing, "let me know when they're ready."

Quickly Boromir strode across the white-paved courtyard. A sweet fountain played there in the sun and a sward of bright green lay about it; but in the midst, drooping over the pool, stood a dead tree, and the falling drops dripped sadly from its barren and broken branches back into the clear water.

"I really must get that tree replaced," Boromir growled, "I'll do it first thing tomorrow." Then he strode on through the doors of the great hall beneath the gleaming tower and opened the tall door of polished metal.

"Father!" Boromir greeted Denethor who had risen as his son entered the great hall. "How are things going?"

"Well enough, now you are returned," Denethor embraced his son. "I feared for Osgiliath, for should it fall, there will be naught between Mordor and the White City. Faramir is doing what he can, but I feared his efforts would be in vain."

"Well not to worry," Boromir reassured his elderly father, "I am here now. I did, in fact see the halflings, and one of them bore the Ring of Sauron."

"Really! Did you bring him?" Denethor's face lit up in excitement, "or the Ring?"

"No Father," Boromir admitted. "He would not come, nor would he lend me the Ring. But by tonight It should be destroyed, well this afternoon actually. So no one will have It."

"Fair enough," Denethor agreed. "Now you get off to Osgiliath and make sure your brother is all right."

"I shall Father," Boromir bowed his head respectfully to his sire, "but before I go, may I beg one boon of thee?"

"One?" His Father smiled, "Boromir you may beg all boons of me and they shall be granted."

"Good," Boromir replied, "but all I want is some seedcake, if that's possible."

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Sauron was uneasy. He had had a strange feeling all morning long that this was not going to be a good day for Him. He had pressed command after command upon His seeing stone, but the thing lay obdurately silent. Where was that fool Saruman? He should be building an army by now, but there was nothing, no reply, not even a message.

So perplexed and vexed was the Dark Lord that He threw, by the power of His great mind, the useless seeing stone into a dim corner and there it lay, humming and vibrating its last and only message. "Build Me an army worthy of Mordor…Build Me an army worthy of Mordor… Build Me an army…" Over and over. But no one saw or heard, or if they did they had no idea how to build armies or why they should bother anyway.

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"My precious! Gives us my preciousss! Sméagol wants It! Sméagol needs It!" Gollum tried to stroke Frodo's foot ingratiatingly, but Sam pushed the foul creature away.

"Geddoff!" Sam snapped. "If Mr Frodo wants a foot rub, I'm sure he'll let me know. You keep your slimy hands to yerself, yer stinker!"

"Sam!" Frodo was not given to name calling, however base the recipient might be. Except for his cousins, but they were family and generally asked for it. "Don't be unkind." He turned back to Gollum, "I haven't got anything of yours, how could I have?"

"Our Preciousss!" The creature's sibilant hiss was chilling and reminded Frodo of a story Bilbo had once told him. In fact, now Frodo came to think about it, it was a creature just like this that Bilbo had got the Ring from in the first place.

"Your what?" Frodo asked politely.

"Our Preciousssssss!" Gollum did not have a clue who Frodo was, but if ever he met a hobbit, or something hobbit-shaped, like a very young elf or a shaven dwarf, he always accused them of having his Precious, just in case. "It's our birthday present, pretty, pretty It is. Please gives It to Sméagol."

"No, sorry," Frodo was certainly not going to own up to having anything of this strange creature's. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Nice little hobbitses," Sméagol was scrabbling to stay on board Landroval, who was attempting to brush him off like an annoying parasite, which was pretty much what he was. "Don't hurt us feelingses! We be nice to them if they be nice to us!"

"Well I'm not sure that we need anyone else along." Frodo certainly did not want to share his eagle with this nasty smelly creature, "besides, we're not going that far, just to Mount Doom and then home again."

"Cracks of Doom!" Sméagol began to wail, "what's the hobbitses doing there? They's going to throw their somethings in the fire! What theys going to throw? Not poor Sméagol! Poor, poor Sméagol – We doesn't deserve the fiery cracks! No we doesn't! Bad, bad hobbitses!"

"Calm down," Sam found this odd creature most exasperating, "we're just going to chuck Mr Frodo's Enchanted Gold Ring… well It's Mr Bilbo Baggins' Ring by rights, but It came to Mr Frodo in his inheritance as it were and…"

"Sam!" Frodo's eyes grew wider than usual, if that can be believed.

"Oops! Sorry Mr Frodo," Sam clamped his hand over his mouth, "I went and did it again!"

"Aeeiiiieee!" Sméagol let out a blood-curdling screech and launched himself at Frodo. "Baggins! We hates it forever! Gives us our Preciousss!"

To Be Continued…