II.

"I have come for your aid, Saruman the....er.....uh...." Gandalf faltered upon getting his first good look at his host in the dim chamber.

"The what?" asked Saruman, daring him with a steely glare.

"No, not white...something a bit more, um..."

"I said what, not white!"

"No, no. Of course not. I concur, definitely not white. More of a..." Gandalf considered him, seeing that his robes which had once been white were not so but were all colours so that his eye was bewildered.

"I am Saruman of Many Colours!"

"I liked white better. You didn't do this on purpose, did you?"

"Aaaargh!" Saruman, humiliated and furious, came at him but found to his great dismay that when he lifted his arms his sleeves stayed just as they had been before, hanging in neat folds... He waved them up and down to no avail, they stuck out like great pointy wedges.

In frustration, he flailed at his fellow wizard with the stiff fibers, attempting to stab him with the pointy flaps.

"Too much starch," Gandalf observed, neatly ducking. "I've had issues with it myself." He whipped off his pointy hat which remained stiff and pointy and came at Saruman hat-tip first. "En garde!"

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