Christmas In Middle Earth
By Piman
It was the year 1946, of the third age of Men, and in the land of Mordor Sauron was bored out of his skull. “Man!” he thought, “there’s just nothing to do in Barad-dur (his impregnable fortress of fear and doom)”. He supposed he could ponder and plot his eventual takeover of Middle Earth and the universe. Or he could focus his terrible will on finding the One ring of Power, which would, after all, make taking the damn place over much easier. But it just didn’t have the same appeal tonight as it had for the previous four millennia. His being an object of terror for the free peoples of middle Earth had been great of course, but after a while, the constant fear of him, the hate, the slaughter it had just become… routine. It was dull. Boring, even. No, he needed something different.
Sauron had always had other interests than simply conquering all life and enslaving it before his merciless will. He had once enjoyed flower gardening, he recalled. However the ash-ridden and poisonous air of Mordor had been somewhat detrimental to his hobby. That and the annual rainfall of Mordor would make most deserts seem like lush pastures in comparison. Also, the Orcs had been horrible garden assistants. “Those Orcs were just so damn bad at watering those hibiscuses at the right times”, he tisked to himself.
After gardening, Sauron turned briefly to the joy of cooking. Sauron reasoned that since his knowledge of smithing was unsurpassed by none in Middle Earth, that he should be great at cooking He figured if he could mix the right materials at the right temperatures for the right amount of time, for making things such as, say… a Ring of Power and Doom, then assuredly he could master the culinary art of making, say… Elrond’s famous split pea soup.
For days he toiled and slaved in the newly installed kitchen of Barad-dur. He mixed just the right spices at just the right time, added the correct ingredients in the proper order and indeed, after five long days (and many restarts to insure quality) he was ready to test the food on the Orcs. True, he had deviated considerably from the stolen Elf sage’s recipe, but he figured that ancient evil such as himself knew more than “some silly Elf”. However, even the Orcs were reluctant to try the substance once they got close enough to smell it. Sauron was forced to call upon the complete power of his will, in fact, to get them to eat the dubious substance. The result was terrible. The entire army came down with food poisoning. Hundreds of Orcs actually died and thousands had the runs all at once. Indeed, with rivers of diarrhea issuing forth from the Orcs, Mordor was made an even worse accursed realm. Due to the pain and the unbearable smell, morale among the Orcs was absolutely shot. Sauron felt compelled to avoid complete revolution by swearing to the Orcs that never again “by the will of Melkor” would he cook anything whatsoever. The remainder of the “soup” was unceremoniously dumped outside of Mordor, as far away as could be managed, into some random river called “the forest river” which ran through the woods of Greenwood. Shortly afterwards, mysteriously to the outside world, Greenwood became dark and was henceforth known as Mirkwood. That particular river became undrinkable and polluted for the rest of days. Most of the wise said that Sauron had used his necromancy to extend a shadow over the forest, and that this was a sign of his growing power. Sauron wisely let them think that and commanded that NO ONE tell of the considerably less flattering truth.
Although Sauron was pleased by his darkening of Greenwood/Mirkwood, albeit via a complete accident, he was still at a loss as what to do. With cooking most certainly out as well as gardening what was he going to do? For weeks he wandered about Barad-dur aimlessly, his head hanging down in deep contemplation. The Orcs were somewhat surprised to see him so despondent. Usually he was a passionate and energetic force of ultimate evil – not some wayward soul in need of busywork. However, the Orcs were still quite angry about the soup incident and were just thankful he was holding to his promise, so none of them reached out to the depressed manifestation of pure evil. Sauron was so depressed, in fact, that even when some of his servants came back with the unbelievable good news that they had recovered the One Ring of Power of which he had been searching for so long, he just couldn’t bring himself to smile. What was the point of an impossible powerful ring of domination and evil when you were bored silly by its dull routine of mayhem, slaughter and domination? Indeed, to the fed-up servants of Mordor it seemed as though his moody depression was going to last years if not decades.
Sauron’s disposition changed, however, quite suddenly. He was just wandering about his fortress when he half-heartedly used his palantir to take a look at some current events in the hopes that something, somewhere, interesting was happening. All of suddenly, the thought came to him! Of course! He didn’t need to look at just current events. He could look into possible futures as well! He decided that he was going to look further ahead into the future than anyone before had ever looked.
Peering into the dense, sinister-looking orb he saw ahead one thousand years. Things were looking good for his forces. Sauruman “of many s” (he rolled his eyes at that one) looked as though he was becoming his ally. Interesting. Two thousand years ahead. Shit! According to this piece of crap he was going to be killed by a couple of little squirts. Oh well, plenty of time to prevent that. Three thousand years. Four thousand. Middle Earth looked to be inhabited pretty much just by men now. “At least the damn Elves are gone.” He thought happily. He pushed all his might into the crystal sphere. 10,000 years. Crap. Not much going on. 20000 years. “Good, now something’s happening” he thought as he saw the pyramids going up. 23000 years. Some decent fighting in China and in the Roman Empire – whatever that is. 25000 years. “Freeeeeedoooom! Freeeeedooooooom! FREEEDOOOOOOM!” yelled Mel Gibson dressed in Highlander garb at the palantir. “What the hell is that… thing… wearing?” Sauron thought as he made a face.
And then it happened. The palantir switched from Mel Gibson’s furious face and instead saw clearly into a room, which had a strange tree dressed in beautiful ed and glowing lights. Around the tree were wondrous boxes filled with all manner of exotic goods. As he watched the scene of Christmas joys unfold, his bitter and dark heart was touched. This was true celebration. This was happiness. This was going to be his new Hobby. “No”, he thought, tears streaming down his face/helmet, “This is more. This is my calling”. He was not to be some dark bringer of terror but of love and joy and Christmas spirit instead. There and then he resolved to remake his image in Middle Earth and to bring it the first Christmas it had ever had. He was overjoyed. He had found his purpose.
Making Christmas a reality for Middle Earth was an enormous undertaking. First the Orcs were quite fed up with their master’s “mid-life crisis” of sorts and were angry that after the soup they would still have to put up with his new change of attitude. The Orcs were used to murder and mayhem, after all, so they found the idea of bringing joy to all in Middle Earth repulsive at best. Still Sauron had the ring (which he had in his boredom neglected to use until now) and so by his enhanced will the Orcs were forced to follow him. That was not good enough for Sauron however. He wanted all of his minions to find the true joy of Christmas he had seen in the palantir. He thus went through painstaking strides to bring it to them. He had Barad-dur decked for the holidays. He switched production of his smithies from weapons to Christmas decorations. He felled enormous trees to be made into gigantic Christmas trees, strung crude candles on strings and lit up his fortresses with Christmas light and glee. He ordered production of massive amounts of wassail and eggnog; hams, turkeys and geese were all prepared in order to have a gigantic Christmas feast. Sauron even started a choir for Christmas caroling using the Nazgul. Unfortunately, the Nazgul as well as their conductor Sauron were all tone deaf and as a result “God rest ye merry gentlemen” sounded worst than any battle cry they had ever made. Unaware of this, Sauron was pleased by the progress he was making in Mordor. However, his goal was to encompass all of Middle Earth in Yule Tide Joy, an even more difficult task.
His first problem was location. He knew that if he was to be Santa Claus to the world and was to bring all of Endor (Elven for Middle Earth) joy, he had to play the part just right. Now, Mordor is in the South of Middle Earth, and Santa Claus is supposed to be in the North, so he briefly played with the notion of moving his whole base of operations up to the Northern Wastelands, as to be an authentic St. Nick. However, logistically this would prove to be too much of a problem and since he had spent so much time getting Mordor Christmas ready, he figured he ought to stay in Barad-dur. Instead he sought to establish just a smaller stronghold, which he would appropriately name “The North Pole” which would be his, Santa’s/Sauron’s workshop for building the many toys and gifts necessary to cheer the hardened hearts of Middle Earth. He then instructed his Northern realm of Angmar, led by the Witch King of the Nazgul, who was going to great lengths to avoid choir practice (such as hiding in the far North), to go even further North of his lands and to begin construction on Santa’s/Sauron’s workshop.
The next problem was labor. A true Santa had elves to help him and to build him his toys of joy. However, the Elves described in Christmas tales that he found with the palantir were totally different then the ones he knew and loathed. He also knew that getting the Elves to participate would be next to impossible. Though it was for a good cause, the Elves would just think that it was more of his lies and would never come if he asked them. Plus, he wanted to surprise his ancient enemy with Christmas joy so he couldn’t very well have them in on it. Also, the elves he was looking for were short and had pointy ears – like the real ones, and were industrious with their hands. After much searching he found the perfect people. Hobbits! They fulfilled all of his requirements and he badly needed them because although the Orcs hearts might be in the right place, the fact was that they built really crappy gifts. He knew though that realistically he could not invite them to Mordor and still keep his plans a secret. So he planned, instead, to kidnap a great portion of them and surprise them with a life of jolly servitude. They, he assumed, would be easy to subdue in the night, and he could then arrange for his servants in Angmar to march in and take them to the workshops in the new “North Pole”.
Unfortunately for Sauron (and especially the Hobbits) his plan in execution was not quite as he had seen it on paper. The sobbing and terrified “elves” were brought to the ash-ridden frozen wastelands in the North by a great company of Orcs, led by a particularly fearsome Nazgul (the Witch King of Angmar). The Hobbits, being used to lives of comfort and stability, did not fare well in this forced relocation. When Sauron had them all gathered and gave them his much rehearsed speech about his new mission for Middle Earth, in which he had intended to fill the “elves” with joy and spirit, the hobbits simply wept, quailed and begged for mercy before the previously dark and evil lord. “Damn!” thought Sauron as he looked out upon the mass of crying and miserable Hobbits. “They just aren’t getting it”. Sauron, however, had quite a demanding schedule, and could ill afford more time with the troubled Hobbits. He instructed the Witch King to start immediate and unceasing toy production, utilizing the cheap labor of the Hobbits. “Just because one terrified ethnic group doesn’t get it doesn’t mean that Christmas shouldn’t come to the other peoples of Middle Earth” Sauron reasoned to himself. Still he hoped that the Hobbits would, in their labors, somewhere between the countless whippings by the Orcs and the endless slave work, find the true meaning of Christmas. Before leaving Sauron also made sure that the Witch King was aware of the next scheduled choir practice. “Aggggghhhhhhh, the Witch King thought shortly after Sauron left, “I can’t stand those stupid songs. Agggghhhhh!” Picking up a whip he proceeded to take his anger out on a nearby cowering hobbit.
Meanwhile, in Elrond’s abode of Rivendell, the Elves most certainly were not finding the spirit of Christmas. Hearing of strange lights coming from Mordor and Mount Doom rekindled (Sauron thought the show lit Mordor with Christmas glee) the elves worried about yet another rise of Sauron in the South. Worst yet were rumors from the North, further north than even the evil realm of Angmar. For in the Northern Wastes Morgoth had once made his Evil fortresses of Angband and Utumno, and unleashed great terror from them. And now word spread of an evil living there once again and voices of wailing on the wind came to the Elf halls of Lindon and they were much afraid. With the rise again of Ancient and terrible Evil in both the North and in the South, not to mention the darkening of Greenwood/Mirkwood it seemed that bleak days lay ahead for all the inhabitants of middle Earth. In the midst of this un-Christmas-like terror news of the forced relocation of the hobbits fell only on the ears of those too preoccupied to give a damn about some little race.
Sauron, however, was completely unaware of the horror he was causing and was indeed very excited about the impending holiday season. He quickly made his way back to Mordor from the wastes of the North, and upon arriving he tackled the next obstacle in bringing Christmas to the fair folk of middle Earth. He needed to figure out how to get his hand on flying reindeer and a sleigh. The sleigh was easy. He simply converted one of his many sinister looking siege engines into a makeshift sleigh. He figured that despite its somewhat grotesque and frightful appearance that if he painted it entirely black no one would actually see the sleigh. The Reindeer were a different matter. “Where the hell am I going to get Reindeer?” Sauron wondered. Come to think of it Sauron realized he wasn’t entirely sure what a Reindeer was. Remembering that Sauruman was becoming his ally in a thousand years or so, and reasoning that Sauruman was pretty learned he figured he’d just ask him. “Find me a Reindeer worthy of Mordor!” he bellowed through the palantir into Orthanc, confusing Sauruman to no end. After not receiving any type of answer from the terrified Sorcerer, he was forced to improvise. Since he needed the ability to fly through the air he decided that the fell beasts he was making as mounts for his Nazgul would just have to do. Naturally the Nazgul were bitchy about this, especially after he made them rehearse “God rest ye merry Gentlemen” for 26 hours, but he was Sauron and so the beasts became his temporary Reindeer. Sauron/Santa also realized that he was going to need to look the part of Santa but given that none of the Nazgul or Orcs knew how to sew worth a damn he had to have himself painted red and white in the appropriate places rather than dress in a Merry Santa suit. After he got his Reindeer and sleigh in order he swung by the Hobbit slave encampments to pick up his gifts. After unsuccessfully attempting to calm the beaten and traumatized hobbits that were even more terrified of his “Reindeer” then of him he was ready to go forth with Christmas Cheer on to Middle Earth.
First on the list was, of course, Gondor. The men of Gondor had of late been greatly troubled by the neighbor to the East. Since the Great Stench (Sauron’s soup mishap) had come forth from it less that one sun year ago, and with it the Plague that dwindled their numbers, men had been whispering of Evil afoot and stirring once again in Mordor. And with the recent light and the rekindling of Mount Doom it looked as though their worst fears were being realized. Still, nothing could prepare them for the 25th of December that year. For out of the sky came the sounds of fell shrieking worse than any sound heard before by mortal men, capable of reducing a King to tears and groveling. Actually at this point it was just the Palantir blasting out an Avril Lavegne Christmas Concert which Sauron had felt would cheer the men of Gondor. And then the beasts came forth dreadful in size and being of the and appearance of Decay, and they beat into the very air, death itself. The men screamed, the women wailed, the children trembled before the nine “Reindeer”.
“Hmmmm” Sauron thought as he gazed on the masses of terrified people running through the streets weeping and wailing. “This is not what I had in mind. Not at all. They’re supposed to be happy and merry. Not running in pure terror!” he exclaimed to his still bitchy Nazgul, thrusting his hands in a gesture of supreme annoyance. Switching off the concert, he desperately thought for a way to salvage the situation. Deciding that it was just best to get a move on with this project and realizing that Minas Tirith was just too big for him to cover by himself, he delegated his nine Nazgul, various sections of the City, and sent them forth bearing gifts and tiding of Joy. Sauron honestly did not foresee any problems with this.
The Witch King of both the Nazgul and Angmar was pissed. Here he was over the completely surprised and defenseless city of his master’s archenemies and all he had to smite them with was a damn bag of crappy toys, all made hastily by trembling hobbit hands. Still the jackass was his boss and if he wanted him to bring joy and gifts to the little shits of this city he would. As he neared his appointed section of the city he randomly selected his first home and landed in front. Swinging the gift bag over his shoulder he made his way through the messy street to the front door bitching to himself about his shitty job and how much this night just plain sucked.
Boranthor was frightened for his children and his wife Fithlimir. The very second the alarm had been raised about the fell beasts that flew above his city even now he had raced them all to the bottom floor of his home and barricaded the door. Picking up his rusty sword that he would undoubtedly need in the battle ahead he swore that he would let no harm come to his family while he yet lived. But then his worst fears were realized. He heard the sound of something terrible and massive land in the street outside. He heard the clank, clank of feet slowly reaching his door and the low uttering of wicked sounds – no doubt curses and spells in the evil tongue of Mordor – followed by dark laughter. Boranthor readied himself to leap towards the door at the attacker who stood right before it….
The Witch King finally made it to the front door through the filth and grime of the street. “Dammit! Now I have crap all over my freaking boots”, he thought angrily surveying the mess and regretting his decision to wear his expensive alligator ones this night. Swearing loudly, he studied the house. “People actually live in this dump? Maybe Sauron’s right! These people need whatever joy we can give them!” he laughed somewhat bitterly to himself. As he readied his hand to knock on the door, he all of suddenly remembered that Sauron wanted them all to get on the damn roof and to merrily shout “Ho! Ho! Ho!”, or some such nonsense, and then they had to go down the freaking chimney and give the crappy little tykes their gifts. After rolling his eyes, he slowly circled the house a few times and found the best way up. Stepping in three more puddles on his way to the edge of the home, he proceeded to climb up the side of the unkempt home. At about ¾ the ways up he slipped… and crashed down on some dog house or something reducing it to splinters and making quite a racket. Swearing, he quickly stood up and was gathering himself, when he noticed that the dog, which had previously inhabited the home he had just crushed and which must have been hiding, was growling at him. “Whoa boy, hold on” the Witch King pleaded as the dog leapt forward and grabbed his left boot, and in the resulting scuffle the Witch King lost his balance and fell into a completely unmarked pit of human feces and filth that was in the family’s yard. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!” he screamed so loudly and angrily that it caused shivers to any but the bravest men who heard it for miles away. Getting out of the feces pool he quickly grabbed the yelping dog and threw it through the wall of the next house. “What kinds of Morons have a freaking pool of SHIT just standing in THEIR YARD!” he screamed in pure fury…
To Boranthor the minutes seemed like hours as the fearsome Nazgul stood before the door of his home which sheltered his beloved wife and children. Just as it seemed as though the Nazgul was going to burst through the door he heard the noises of footsteps leading away from his house. His fleeting hope that this was his prayers being answered was shattered however, when he heard harsh noises to the North of his home and the splashing of several puddles followed by more of the harsh sounding death language of Mordor. Thinking that these were curses upon his home (and not just the regular kind) his fear came back to him in waves that felt as though they were grinding his very bones. To his horror he then heard the creature begin to climb his home. Quickly assessing that the fell lieutenant of Evil meant to climb down his chimney he darted towards the few embers left in his fire place and began to hurriedly throw on bundles of faggots (the old kind). As he cleverly put the stopper in its “up” position, he heard, to his surprise, the sound of falling and then crashing. Amidst the utterance of yet more cursing he heard the sound of their neighbors, the Téor’s, dog barking, followed by the sound of splashing and the most horrible and cruel sound of pure malice he had ever imagined. Boranthor surmised that the Nazgul must have fallen in his temporarily open latrine hole. Fithlimir had been begging him for ages to take care of that mess, but in his usual procrastination he had found something else to do. After all, who wanted to deal with a pit of reeking feces? Boranthor would have been amused but the terror of the moment had taken him as he listened intently to what happened next…
At this point the Witch King was too upset for words. Falling in a pool of shit was so out of his job description. Wasn’t he supposed to be leading great armies against the enemies of Sauron? Anyway, he decided not to tempt fate with the wall once more, instead going back to his fell steed. Raising it above the house he landed it on the roof, which groaned under the considerable weight of the dark animal. After assessing that the roof would hold for at least a few minutes the Nazgul slide off his ride, angrily grabbed his bag and stomped up to the chimney. Seeing no smoke, he began to lower himself into the house to spread the joy of Christmas to the young within its shitty walls…
Boranthor once again heard the noise of the horrible wraith walking away, this time sparing his family and him of any dark curses. Boranthor somehow knew, however, that the creature was not leaving. Indeed, as he was once again working to get the fire as hot as possible, he heard the sound of something huge landing on his roof, followed by the sound of a rider hopping off of it and stomping towards his chimney. Praying that his quickly hatched plan would bear fruition, he crept next to the fire and placed his hand on the stopper’s open/close mechanism…
Boranthor’s plan was working. The Witch King had absolutely no idea of the flame raging in fire place beneath him, as he dropped himself down the chimney. Thinking how good it would feel to have this hellish ordeal behind him, The Witch King was surprised to find metal under his feet – not the stone of the fire place floor…
Boranthor finally heard the sound that he had been waiting for – the sound of the creature sliding down the chimney. He seized the latch and opened the fire stopper, dropping the Witch King into the flames…
Just as he was figuring out his mistake, the Witch King felt himself fall an extra few feet into a hot and tall-burning fire. He felt the fire whoosh through his body and despite his being soaked in shit/urine-water he sensed his ridiculously flammable body burst into flames. “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” he screamed jumping out of the fire place and into the home. Screaming more curses and desperately seeking someway of extinguishing the flames, he dropped his bag of feces-soaked crappy hobbit-made toys, and grabbed some nearby blankets in an attempt to snuff out the flames. Much to his horror, there were some of the little shit children that had gotten him into this inconceivable horrible mess underneath the blankets. Screaming so loudly into his face that he felt his vision blur, the little shits proceeded to throw all sorts of household items into at his burning self. “Stop it Dammit! I’M ON FIRE FOR GOD’S SAKES! I was just trying to give you FUCKING CHRISTMAS CHEER!” he screamed at them, enraged by the stupidity of the monster-children. Unfortunately he was in so much pain from his scorched body he forgot to use common speak and instead spoke in the harsh tongue of Mordor.
Nothing could have prepared Boranthor for what happened next. Out of the fire came another fire – the fell creature of Sauron wrapped in flame. The creature screamed a War-Cry so horrible that Boranthor simply could not move. After dropping a bag filled with dark devices of Mordor, the creature moved towards the corner where his children lay, snatching the blankets off of them and reared back for the kill. But his brave children, his brave, brave children threw everything they could find at the monstrosity of nature. Then came from its horrid mouth the foul words of Mordor, of which Boranthor understood nothing but malice, which sounded something like this: “Rak ast Umark! Gar ungock tor hurk mur Sauron neshak! Gar unok suk baorg MORSHKAK CHRISTMAS HORGACK!” Fearing the worst and summing what little courage he had left Boranthor leapt towards the enflamed Dark Lord with his rusty sword in hand, screaming “Get out of my house foul servant of Mordor! The creature took one look at him and then ran towards the door, tore down the crude barricade and ran into the night. “Thank Iluvatar, I am saved”, thought Boranthor.
Shortly after the Witch King made his plea to the little monster children, he saw out of the corner of his eye the most terrified and enraged man he had ever seen coming towards him sword in hand. “That’s it. Fuck it! I am SO out of here” he thought. Needing desperately to quench the flames (the blankets had been to no avail) he remembered the rank feces pit. Seeing no alternatives he ran towards the door, tore away its barricade in one swell gesture, found the pit again, and jumped in. The smell was horrible. But at least the fire was out. Getting back on his feet he got back on the fell beast and took off.
Boranthor relief was short-lived. He quickly realized that in the course of the terrible King’s attack, flame from it had lit most of his house of fire. That and those horrible, rank, instruments of evil (hobbit toys in feces covered bag), burst into flames spreading the fire quickly. He barely managed to get his family out before his house completely collapsed in flaming ruin. “Noooooo!” he screamed gazing upon his blazing home. Falling to the ground in complete despair he screamed “What horrors have I endured tonight. Curse Sauron and his servants. Curse them all – For all eternity.” DAMN THEM! DAMN THEM! DAMN THEM!’ he screamed/sobbed.
Looking down at the scene of the burnt house and sobbing man, the Witch King thought “Serves the fucker and his demon children right.” Still he wisely made the choice to neglect to mention this mishap to Sauron. After all, the Witch King thought, he had done many things down there, but he did not think that one of the things he had done was to spread any “Christmas Spirit.” “Damn” he thought, this night sucked almost as bad as when he got married to that life-sucking bitch Tiumirér way back when he was still human. Anyway, since he had left all his substandard toys back in that horrible house he reluctantly headed back towards his asshole boss.
The Witch King was hardly alone, out of the eight other Nazgul, in his Christmas difficulties. Though they were heavily laden in gifts and wore bright red robes the Nazgul found it all but impossible to achieve their Christmas joy spreading objectives. The children of Minas Tirith just did not respond well to the dark creatures of evil knocking at their doors, or going down their chimney’s, no matter even if the dark lieutenants shouted “HO! HO! HO!” Actually, especially if they shouted “HO! HO! HO!” That may have had something to do with the fact that the phrase sounded something like “Eeeeeeeeaaaaarrrrrrrr! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr! Eeeeeeeeaaaaarrrr!” when they spoke in their usual cries of pain and terror. So the frustrated Nazgul had to put up with sobbing, crying children, and worse – their sobbing, wailing and crying parents, all night long.
Sauron had landed shortly after giving his nine Nazgul their respective yuletide instructions, on the courtyard of the palace overlooking the impressive city. From there he watched in complete and absolute mortification, as the city responded to his Christmas bearing Nazgul. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh Shit.” He thought over and over. “They’re just not getting it”. Sauron’s mind raced for a way to somehow rectify the situation. Just then he saw a flame appear in the city and he knew that it was one of his Nazgul who somehow had managed to well and truly fuck up his mission. Turning away in disgust he found himself staring at some little white tree shriveled and mostly dead. Sauron quickly perceived that this was the white tree of Minas Tirith. To its fate the men of Gondor thought their country was linked. Suddenly an idea struck him. He would cover the Tree with the little Mordor-made candles he had brought in his sleigh with him! Once the tree was covered in light and joy, the men of Gondor would see through the darkness, the fear, the hate, the mistrust, and would finally understand what Christmas was all about. Figuring that it was probably best to get the Nazgul out of the city as quickly as possible, Sauron sent out a psychic message to his Nazgul to return. He then immediately got his bag of candles out and began to awkwardly put the candles on the tree. Shortly after he started he noticed that the Witch King was already back. “That was quick”, Sauron commented to the Dark King with a look of suspicion. “In fact, how’d you get all of your toys distributed so quickly? And why do you smell like shit?” Sauron hastily added wrinkling his nose in disgust looking up briefly from his candle lighting work.
The Witch King searched his mind for some excuse – any excuse, but settled lamely on “Oh… um… yeah… you see…”
Sauron interrupted him before he had a chance to adequately respond, shaking his head and saying “Never mind. Tell me later. Just help me with the damn candles for now.” However at that point, while the other disgruntled Nazgul were returning from what looked to be horrible nights for each one of them, Sauron and the Nazgul heard shouts from the fortress above. “Scum of Mordor be gone from our white city and never return within its walls again!” yelled the Steward of Gondor. The demand was followed shortly by clumsy arrow fire towards the would-be Santa and his crew of not-quite-so-merry workers. All the Nazgul made it quite clear that they thought it would be best to leave, but Sauron insisted that they stay to assist him in lighting the “merry-fucking-Christmas tree”. However, in the confusion that resulted in the arrow fire, and the mind numbing stench of the Witch King, Sauron had trouble concentrating on his tasks. As he was yelling at one of the Nazgul for placing a candle incorrectly he didn’t even notice that some of the candles were starting the tree on fire. Suddenly the dry white tree burst into flame. “Filth of Mordor!” screamed the Steward. “You defile the White Tree and curse us with your foul stench!”
“No!” yelped Sauron, utterly dismayed at how his good intentions had turned into a curse upon the nation of Gondor. “You don’t understand” he pleaded. “Oh my! This is all so funny when you understand. We didn’t…” However was interrupted by the noise of thousands of angry Gondorian soldiers charging him. Sensing that there was to be no salvaging of this situation, he hurriedly got onto his sleigh and flew, with his Nazgul in rear, into the night.
The Steward of Gondor collapsed before the burning embers of the once fair tree. “O what devilry was worked tonight!” he screamed in complete horror. “Our house, our country is doomed! A curse on Sauron and all of his minions! Burn! Burn! Burn all of them!” Weeping, he sank to the ground screaming one last time “DOOM HAS COME TO US ALL! O DOOM, FELL DOOM!
“Well, their probably not all that upset” thought Sauron as he flew away in his sleigh, “I mean its just one tree” he reasoned to himself. In any case, he didn’t think they had quite gotten the true message of Christmas. “Well, just because the hobbits and Gondor don’t get it doesn’t mean that the Dwarves won’t. And who knows”, he thought, “Maybe they will pass it along to their neighbors in Gondor.”
*****
“Wait a second”, Psi Renne said looking up from reading Piman’s somewhat short story. “Wasn’t Boranthor’s curse on the Witch King pretty much the same as the Steward’s curse on Sauron?”
“Not really”, Piman responded looking annoyed. “Totally different things happen that lead up to them. The curses are just meant to be funny anyway, you know as a sort of irony. Here Sauron is trying to bring them Christmas joy and instead they hate more than ever before – and that’s saying a lot.”
“But I don’t even get why you added the Witch King”, Psi Renne complained. “He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t change.”
“What do you mean he doesn’t change?!?” shouted Piman clearly perplexed by this now old argument “He’s the freak‘in King of the Nazgul. He’s not supposed to change.”
“You don’t have to yell” Psi Renne shouted back. “Anyway I just don’t see any journey. I have to ask myself, “Where is he going?” The fact is he just not a compelling character.”
“He’s been around as a force of pure evil for like 50 millennia! He’s not going to become Santa’s merry little helper just because Sauron told him to. And naturally he’s going to be pissy about his new job objectives. Keep in mind that it’s also a short story. I can’t fundamentally change everyone. What next, are you going to ask me to give fucking Boranthor motivation and ‘change’”, Piman mocked.
“Look, I am just saying that you asked for my opinion, and I am not going lie to you, Catch will never accept this without all the characters going on some type of journey. And that part with Boranthor just isn’t working for me. Where’d you come up with that stupid name anyway?”
“Fuck you and fuck Catch.” Piman said looking back at the computer screen and frowning intensely. As he was about to say something scathing about Catholics in his usual style, Zygmunt interrupted looking up from the intense game he was currently playing with Piman, saying “Look, who cares about Catch – they’re all just a bunch of depressed dumb-asses anyway. And Psi Renne just finish the story. I want to beat Piman at “Ages” again. Shaking his head, Psi Renne read on.
*****
Sauron had originally planed to visit the Rohirrim, but apparently the men of Gondor, in their complete over-reaction to the “the events of 12/25” had lit their swell little system of beacons and now all of Rohan was preparing for war. Sauron had decided that, in the midst of this climate of fear of war, Christmas would be all but impossible for the Rohirrim this year. That and, honestly, Sauron was starting to suspect that humans in general, at least in Middle-Earth, were just incapable of understanding the true meaning of Christmas.
Anyway, next on Santa/Sauron’s list was the Dwarves. The problem with the Dwarves was that delivering a classic style Christmas to them was just plain difficult. They lived in mineshafts for Pete’s sake. How can one climb down a chimney into Kazad-dum? Or even more inconceivable – how do you get a tree in there? Sauron had originally figured they would just leave their various gifts outside the gate to Kazad-dum with little Christmas notes of joy attached. However, the gifts had proved to be both crappy and dangerous fire hazards. Sauron really did not fault his “elves” workmanship so much he did their materials. The trees of Fangorn proved to be just really bad wood, certainly not worth the many Orcs they lost to the Ents or “tree herders”. Sauron had tried to explain to the Ents the concept of a Christmas tree, but all the Ents heard was the part about cutting the trees down. In the end Sauron had had to briefly revert to his old ways and annihilate them. Also explaining the poor quality of the toys was the fact that the “elves” had also been forced to work quickly and without breaks under conditions that would make Chinese sweatshop owners blanch. So Sauron understood that in the terror and long hours, quantity and not quality had reigned supreme. And you can’t very well give a forging culture toys that, for all practical purposes, were incendiary grenades, now could you? So Sauron felt compelled to veto the ding-dong-gift idea and instead brainstormed other Christmas joy bringing options.
When the solution finally came to him, he was amazed he hadn’t thought of it earlier. “Of course!” he thought merrily. “Singing. That shall be our gift to the Dwarves. We shall show them the spirit of Christmas, not through substandard gifts, but through the joy of Music!” Since he already did have a choir – the Nazgul Nine he liked to call them – it seemed a positively wonderful idea.
Sauron hurried quickly after the incident in Gondor to the gates of the great Dwarf mansion at Kazad-dum. Seeing no possible way that this could go awry he started the Nazgul on their first song – “Silent Night” followed by “What Child Is This?”
Deep under the Mountains of Kazad-dum the Balrog lay in a deep slumber. In the elder days, it had escaped the fires of Utumno and Angband and the coming of the Host of the West and had fled to this region far from his master’s old domain. Here he slept until great evil would awake him, oblivious to the great number of Dwarves who had built and delved for millennia above him. Here his sleep had gone undisturbed despite the Dwarves constant hammering. However, his deep dark dreams were suddenly invaded by the most pernicious of sounds. Loathsome wailing followed by teeth shattering screaming and howling. Though he tried vainly to cover his ears, the Balrog could not endure it. Slowly but surely, as the sounds got worse, he felt himself awakening for the first time in countless years. Finally the shrieks became too fearsome and terrible for words and the Balrog finally awoke. He was positively enraged. Getting up he let out his own thunderous roar and climbed up and up, higher and higher towards the hell-noise. He suddenly broke through the walls of some cavern. What he saw amazed and infuriated even his dark heart.
There were thousands of short, stubby little dwarves as he had only heard about in the elder days, when he had served his dark master faithfully. They dropped anything they were holding and looked upon him with terror on their faces. “How dare these FILTH and SWINE inhabitant the place of an undying flame of Melkor!” the Balrog screamed. “I will kill ALL OF THEM!” he raged as he waved his great whip of fire, demolishing a few columns and a few dozen dwarves. As the dwarves ran before him, he chased them and he looked like what he was – a terrible demon of fire and hatred. He tore through chamber after chamber, burning all manner of tables, chairs and anything that could be touched by flame. He hewed many glorious columns with his sword of fire. He smashed hundreds of horrified Dwarves as they attempted to flee before him, with his fists and whips. He burned their corpses with fire from his nostrils. Indeed, the Balrog slew their King Durin himself – the high king of the Dwarves, annihilating him with his fearsome whip. The Dwarves lost Kazad-dum, the greatest of their underground mansions that day. The Dwarves many years from that day could only remember that they had been visited by Death itself that day (ironically they were actually referring to the concert – not to the Balrog).
The concert outside of Kazad-dum had actually been going quite well, in Sauron’s estimation, (actually the Dwarves were screaming about what kind of Evil could make noise so foul) up until their last song. However, when they got started on “God rest ye Gentle Merry Men” which the Nazgul had never gotten right, the Witch King to Sauron’s annoyance always seemed to mess up his solo, they began to hear noises from the great Dwarven mine. Indeed, the dark company listened in horror as they heard the noise as some huge creature began to apparently annihilate the Dwarves. Sauron’s face blanched when he realized that it must be one of the Balrogs of old that they had accidentally awakened. After comprehending that the Dwarves were in for one hell of a shitty Christmas, he decided to keep this incidence under wraps. “Look. We were never here. NEVER! This… problem that we caused…. We DID NOT CAUSE IT!” He emphasized to the somewhat shaken Nazgul. While Sauron wasn’t looking the Witch King slipped a snide remark to his dark colleges, “Yeah, it didn’t happen all right. Just like the soup” When Sauron inquired as to why all the Nazgul were laughing, the Witch King simply replied “Oh Nothing.” in an extremely unconvincing manner.
After the Dwarf incident “that didn’t happen”, Sauron was starting to feel desperate. “Can’t I bring Christmas Spirit to at least one stupid ethnic group?” he asked his extremely apathetic Nazgul. Sensing that they would be of no help to him, he sent them back to Mordor “to drink all the damn eggnog they wanted”. Sauron sought some place of solace – some place to ponder why he just couldn’t bring Christmas to Middle Earth. Flying for a few hours he landed in the beautiful valley of the Anduin River. He had barely gotten off of his fell mount before another thought suddenly came to him. There was another group – the Elves, the real ones! Now since he had no Nazgul and no more gifts he felt as though his options were somewhat limited. But he did have one thing. The Ring of Power. Elrond of Rivendell had one of the controllable Elven Rings. Since Elrond did not know of Sauron’s recent reuniting with the One Ring Elrond probably had the thing still on. That meant he could take the bastard over and make the fucker know the true spirit of Christmas. “Ha! Ha! Hah!” Sauron thought slipping the Ring on.
“You have all been summoned here for one purpose. The power of Evil is rising,” Elrond told his Elven Council convened to deal with the growing threat of evil in Middle Earth, who were clearly enchanted with every word that the Elf sage spoke. “Good” Elrond thought reflecting that his many hours rehearsing in front of the mirror had played off nicely. “We must meet the Evil in both the frozen North and the Furnace of Mordor. We must…” at this point in the very well delivered speech, Elrond all of suddenly gasped and clutched his ring. “Sauron must have the Ring!” he yelled/gasped to his surprised audience. “He is taking…. My…..” he trailed off struggling before he collapsed in an ungraceful heap upon the floor. As the Elves all piled in around him wondering what to do – (usually Elrond handled this type of shit) – CPR or whatever, the Elf leapt to his feet, except this time it was clear that Sauron was upstairs. “Ha! Ha! HAH” he shouted obviously elated. “It’s time for some Christmas-Fucking-Spirit for EVERY ONE OF YOU UNMERRY ELVES!”
However, before he could explain what he meant by Christmas spirit and that he was actually here on a mission of good-will, Arwen screamed, “Get out of my Daddy King of Mordor!” hitting him over the head with a chair, and then kicking him repeatedly in the chins with her pointy shoes.
The Elves suddenly swarmed over the room, “Elrond’s not himself! He wouldn’t want to live as a slave of Sauron!” screamed one feminine looking male Elf with long blond hair (what else?).
“Yeah, we should take him out of his misery!’ cried another, picking up a stone.
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” the Elves screamed as they began to beat him mercilessly with various blunt objects.
“Oh crap.” thought Sauron as yet another two by four, crashed into his skull. This wasn’t Christmas either. Seeing no point in continuing to possess a body that was being beaten to a pulp, he quietly slipped out of Elrond’s body, leaving Elrond to the mercy of the blood thirsty Elves.
Sauron couldn’t help but wonder if some of the Elves actually enjoyed beating the usually stoic Elf. “Maybe he wasn’t too popular.” ventured Sauron thoughtfully. “Still, after this Christmas he’s still probably loads more popular than you.” He laughed to himself mirthfully. Sighing he looked down the beautiful Anduin River and pondered his life. He decided to go for a walk by the graceful river, letting his black armored shoes, clank on the smooth gray stones of its shores. As he walked he reflected on the true meaning of Christmas.
All of suddenly he noticed, by the shores of the great river, a youth, of a small type of man – sort of like those “elves”/hobbits. As he approached the youth he realized that the boy wasn’t afraid of him. There was no running in terror, screaming, cursing or even the fairly common passing out. The boy just stood there and looked at him – completely unafraid – though he stood only to Sauron’s armored knees. Amazed he bent down towards the hobbit/thing and was even more amazed to hear it say “what are you thinking of mister?”
Sauron was so amazed by the lads’ question he answered it, saying “I want to know the true meaning of Christmas.”
“Well that’s easy mister. It’s when you give someone something.”
Sauron rolled his eyes to say “Well that’s a big no shit.”, but instead he all of suddenly became amazed.
*****
“Wait a second, how does that annoying little kid know about Christmas?” Psi Renne asked looking at Piman skeptically.
“I… Well….” Piman mumbled. “Look. Maybe his own people have some similar holiday. I think some group of men in Middle Earth has something called “Yule Time” as a holiday. You know, Yule Time – Yuletide – Christmas.
“Well if that’s the case then why does the kid know what Christmas is, not Yuletime?” Psi Renne continued. “And what the hell is your fascination with the word amazing? You used it like three times in the last few paragraphs. I have three words for you: vary word choice”.
“Look. The Kid is just a damn plot device and you’re being annoying” Piman responded tersely, apparently wrapped up in his Ages game with Zygmunt. “And I don’t know I must have been writing quickly or something. So I used the same words a few times. Big Deal!”
“Psi Renne. Just finish the story. Okay?” Zygmunt pleaded, as he sent his hussar army into Piman’s base in a mission of villager search and destroy.
***
“This little crapper actually has it right.” Sauron thought amazed, (Psi Renne frowned once again at Piman’s unoriginal word choice, but reluctantly read on).The meaning of Christmas isn’t to create your own little “North Pole” and to enslave an entire ethnic group to work its deplorable sweat shops. It isn’t to dress up in a Santa costume complete with a sleigh and “reindeer”. Christmas isn’t even about loads of mass slavery produced goods, or Christmas trees or even caroling. And most importantly, you can’t make it happen to others. You must have it in your heart first. Suddenly Sauron was filled with the true spirit of Christmas. With tears rolling down his eyes, he choked up. “What’s your name dear, sweat, little boy”, he asked gently smiling and putting his hand on the brave lad’s shoulder.
“I’m not little! And my name’s Deagol” cried out the hobbit/creature in a winy little kid’s voice.
Patting Deagol on the back, Sauron smiled and said “Sure you aren’t” condescendingly. With the true spirit of Christmas coursing through his veins, Sauron knew what he had to do.
Reaching slowly, he took the One Ring of Power off of his hand, and he gave his favorite thing in the entire world to the hopelessly short hobbit boy. With that act of supreme giving, Sauron knew that at last he had found the spirit of Christmas. Just seeing that look of unadulterated desire on Deagol’s face made Sauron beam with joy and pride. At last he had found one inhabitant on Middle Earth who also understood the joys of Christmas. He was overjoyed.
Deagol snatched the Ring from Sauron’s outstretched hand. Holding the ring in front of himself he moaned “It’s mine. My very own. My precious!” Then, with a look of pure Christmas Joy, Deagol looked at Sauron and thanked him profusely. As Sauron was walking back to his steed, to fly back to Mordor, Deagol cried out “Oh, I just can’t wait to show my friend Sméagol your wondrous gift! He will be so happy for me!” the hobbit/creature cried out in blissful joy.
***
A few months later, Sauron got back to his old, ultimate force of evil, self. His midlife crisis of sorts was over. The Orcs were overjoyed. The Nazgul actually cried, they were so thankful. Indeed, all of Mordor was in celebration while they took down all the decorations, and finally ate all of that Christmas food they had been hoarding for so long. Unfortunately, amidst the joy of the real Sauron’s return, there was great sorrow. The one Ring of Power was gone. Sauron was positively mortified at his dumb, dumb decision to give away his One Ring of Power. He, of course, after coming to his senses, immediately headed an expedition to get it back. The hobbits were still there; on the Northern banks of the Anduin, but the little shit Deagol had gotten himself murdered by his so-called friend, Sméagol. After much torture, they learned that Sméagol had taken off with the Ring which he had claimed to have found in the River. “Yeah, the One Ring of Power would just happen to be under some River bank!” Sauron sarcastically commented. Though the mission was a complete failure, Sauron did enjoy annihilating that particular group of hobbits. “It’s good to know I still have it in me” Sauron joked, to the Witch King. The Witch King just scowled and yelled “What… POSSESSED you to give your ONE RING OF POWER AWAY! We might not find it for like a thousand years now!”
Sauron coolly looked at the Witch King. “What Possessed you to get your ass kicked by a dog and a couple of children?” he asked in an obviously mocking manner. The Witch King just looked away and ignored his asshole boss.
It took Elrond years to completely heal from his scars. For some reason, when he started yelling “No! Wait it’s me guys! It’s just me – no Sauron!” his fellow Elves just hit him even harder. Needles to say he just barely managed to fend them off in time. The whole experience left even more a tight-ass than before.
The Hobbits were released. They were actually released before Sauron found his evil self again. He actually considered sending an expedition to the shire just to be evil, but he put it off, until he forgot about the insignificant shits anyway.
Though he was shocked by it still, Sauron did find his brief flirtation as Santa, kind of amusing. When he had actually tried to help them that was when he spread the most terror and mayhem to Middle Earth. The men of Gondor were cursed and afraid, the Dwarves had lost Kazad-dum (now Moria) on account of the Balrog, an entire ethnic group (the Shire hobbits) was enslaved, Elrond got beaten to a pulp, and he even got some kid murdered by his best friend. It was more than any Lord of Evil could ever hope for. Truly, for Sauron, it was the best Christmas ever.
***
Shaking his head, Psi Renne got up from reading Piman’s “short” story. “Its fine Piman but I just think that both you guys have written so many parodies, you can’t write anything else.
Both roommates simultaneously,looked up from their engrossing game and responded
“Fuck you Psi Renne.”
