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Title: When In Gondor… Author: Aratlithiel Summary: There are all sorts of new and… um… well, new things in the world of Men. Category: General/Humor Rating: PG
August 21, 2004
(Honorable Marlin Perkins Award)
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A/N - I didn't think this could be technically termed a fic and so it goes in here.
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WHEN IN GONDOR...
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“Something wrong, sir?”
“Um… I’m not sure, actually.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Well, I haven’t actually tried it, yet.”
“Yes, I see that, now. Don’t think poking at it like that’s going to help much.”
“No, but… uh…”
“Is there a problem, Mr. Frodo?”
“Well, it’s um… it’s got… well…”
“Yes?”
“Well, they seem to have left the faces on our dinner.”
“Yes, sir. I noticed that, too.”
“It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”
“Aye, sir. That it is.”
“I wonder if it’s a ‘Man’ thing? Leaving the face on one’s food?”
“Don’t rightly know, sir but I’ve covered mine up with that bit of green stuff they give us with it.”
“Oh, very clever, Sam!”
“Thank you, sir. Makes it not so… um…”
“Yes, I’m sure it would.”
“So, are you going to try it?”
“Uh…”
“Shouldn’t let it go to waste, sir.”
“You know, I’m not feeling terribly hungry right now. Why don’t you go ahead?”
“Oh, sir, I couldn’t take a bite before you do.”
“Nonsense, Sam. Foolish to stand on ceremony, after all we’ve been through.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir, but I insist.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t, really. You go ahead.”
“Sir, you know you have to start eating more regular-like. King Strider ain’t likely to quit throwing these banquets, if you don’t.”
“Don’t be silly. He wouldn’t have these ridiculous things simply as a way to get me to eat, Sam.”
“As you say, sir.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“I’m sure you’re right, sir.”
“No, really.”
“All right, then.”
“You don’t think he really would, do you?”
“Alls I’m saying, sir, is that, if you maybe put on a couple of pounds, I’ll bet these affairs ease off some.”
“Well, don’t put any pressure on me, or anything.”
“No pressure, sir. Just thought as you’d be wanting to know, is all.”
“Yes, well… I suppose I could give it a try. They went to so much trouble, after all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s um… Hmm…”
“Trouble, sir?”
“Well…”
“Now, Mr. Frodo, you said as you were going to give it a try.”
“Well, yes but…”
“But what, sir?”
“It’s um… it’s just that… Well, I’m having a difficult time trying to put something in my mouth that I would swat at, if I found it crawling up my leg.”
“Well, no one else seems to be having a problem, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“But, Sam, just look at it! It has antennae, for pity’s sake!”
“Yes, sir. I noticed that right off.”
“Well, wouldn’t that lead one to believe that we have been served very large, cooked bugs?”
“Yes, I suppose it would.”
“I haven’t been overly fond of bugs, lately.”
“No, sir, I don’t imagine you would be.”
“And these are very big bugs.”
“Now that you mention it, sir, they do look an awful lot like the crawbugs what live in the creek by the Water.”
“Yes, Sam, you’re right, they do. Only those are grayish and these are red.”
“Aye, sir. But I ‘spect the crawbugs’d get red enough, if you cooked ‘em.”
“Have you ever?”
“Ever what?”
“Cooked a crawbug.”
“Now, sir, why would I want to go and do a fool thing like that?”
“Well, to eat, of course. Can’t imagine they’d go down easy raw.”
“Well, Mr. Frodo, I’m thinking they wouldn’t go down easy raw or cooked and I’d not like to go trying them either way.”
“Then why are you insisting that I eat one of their larger cousins?”
“Well, I never said as it was a crawbug, only that it looked like one.”
“Yes, but we’re still back to the bug issue.”
“Aye, sir, I guess we are, at that.”
“You seem to be taking it in stride.”
“I guess I just figured it were the way of things here.”
“You think they eat bugs all of the time?”
“Well, Mr. Strider was one of them Rangers and all. I suspect he’s eaten his share of bugs over the years.”
“And you think that, now he’s become King, he’d make his subjects eat them as well?”
“King’s’ve been known to do all sorts of daft things, if those stories of Mr. Bilbo’s are to be believed.”
“Hmm… You might be right, Sam. I suppose we should at least taste it. You know, out of respect for our new King.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Frodo.”
“All right.”
“Right, sir.”
“Well, go ahead, then.”
“Mr. Frodo, we’ve been through this, sir. You first.”
“Why me first?”
“It’s just proper, Mr. Frodo.”
“I think you’re using this politeness thing as a way to make me go first, so you don’t have to.”
“I’d never, sir!”
“And if I start gagging and keel over into my soup, you’ll know not to eat the bug.”
“Now, sir, that’s just hard.”
“Well, why won’t you go first, then?”
“It just ain’t proper, Mr. Frodo.”
“Oh, proper my--”
“Now, sir, there’s no cause to go getting yerself out of sorts.”
“It’s a little late to be worrying about that.”
“’Sides, all these other folk’ve been eating it and no one’s keeled over, as yet.”
“Don’t use logic on me, Sam. You know how I hate that.”
“Sorry, sir. I’ll work on it.”
“Well, would you look at that.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Pippin’s eating his.”
“Don’t know why that should surprise you, Mr. Frodo. Master Pippin eats everything that ain’t nailed down and some things as are.”
“I suppose. It’s just a little annoying.”
“Annoying, sir?”
“Well, I can’t even figure out how to use these… whatever they are and he’s on his second bug already.”
“Them’s just big nutcrackers, as near as I can tell.”
“Yes, I thought so, too but I don’t see any nuts and I suspect we’re to use them on the bugs.”
“Sir, do you have to keep calling them bugs?”
“Well, what should I call them, then?”
“I don’t rightly know, sir, but if you keep calling them bugs, I won’t be able to give ‘em a try.”
“Oh, look, Sam. He’s using those big… Ah, I see. You take the claw and…”
“Here, let me help you, sir…”
“No, Sam, I’ve got it.”
“But you’re--”
“See? You just put that… wait… no, it must go like…”
“No, I don’t think… Oh.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Sam. Here, let me--”
“No, sir, thank you kindly but I’ve got it.”
“Oh, that’s going to stain.”
“Aye, sir. A proper mess, that is.”
“I’m sure the laundry will be able to get it out.”
“Yes, I expect so.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Sam.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Frodo.”
“It’s just that, with the butter and all…”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Oh, no. Hurry and put that down. Pippin’s looking this way.”
“What…?”
“I don’t want him to see that I’m having trouble or I’ll hear no end to it. I’m already having to avoid him because of the privy incident.”
“Privy incident?”
“Nothing you want to know, Sam. Like a dog with a bone, that one.”
“Aye, he’s a oner, ain’t he, sir?”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Well, at least we know how to use the nutcrackers, now.”
“True, I suppose. Still…”
“What, sir?”
“Well, he’s still a bit annoying, is all. I find myself wondering how many new and different ways he can find to irritate me.”
“Oh, sir, that’s like wondering how much grass there is.”
“Why, Sam! How cheeky of you. I’m impressed. You’re getting very clever with those.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Not at all. But I suppose it’s time we take that taste, hmm?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“Yes.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Oh, bother, Sam, are you really going to wait for me to try it first?”
“It’s only right and proper, sir.”
“Bugger right and proper, now you pick up that fork.”
“Are you ordering me, sir?”
“Well… when you put it that way…”
“I didn’t think as you’d do something like that.”
“No, you’re right. I apologize, Sam.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Frodo.”
“Maybe we could do it together?”
“You mean we both take a bite at the same time?”
“Yes, exactly. Sort of like jumping off a cliff, hand in hand.”
“Why would we want to go jumping off a cliff?”
“Well, not really a cliff, Sam. It was metaphorical.”
“Meta-what?”
“Never mind. Just… Ugh. Let’s just get this done, all right? The longer we sit here, the more likely it is that these things are going to go crawling across the table.”
“Oh, now, sir, did you have to say that?”
“Well, they--”
“Now my stomach’s all a’quiver.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. Truly.”
“It’s all right, sir. Just no more talking, all right?”
“Yes, Sam, you’re right. Let’s take our bite and get the blazes out of here.”
“All right, sir. On three?”
“Yes, fine.”
“You count.”
“One. Two…”
“Sir?”
“I can’t do it, I just can’t!”
“Sure you can, Mr. Frodo.”
“No, no, I really can’t! I mean, look at it!”
“I’d as soon not, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s a bug, I tell you, a big, fat, red bug!”
“Mr. Frodo, if you’re expecting me to take a bite of this thing, I suggest you stop saying the word ‘bug’. I’m already off my feed, the way it is.”
“Yes, all right, fine! But you’re the one insisting we must at least try it, so you’re taking a bite with me.”
“Yes, sir, I said I would. Just don’t say… that word again.”
“Fine. Ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. One. Two…”
“Sir?”
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
“Sir--”
“Three!”
“Hmm…”
“Hmph.”
“It’s um… hmm…”
“What do you think, Sam?”
“Mmrph.”
“Yes, it’s actually not bad, is it?”
“Different, sir. Try it in that butter there.”
“Oh, is that what that’s for?”
“You’ll have to share mine, sir. Yours is all over my breeches.”
“Yes. Ahem. Thank you, Sam.”
“Certainly, Mr. Frodo.”
“Oh, that is quite good.”
“Yes, the butter makes the difference, don’t it?”
“Mmrph.”
“I’ll see if I can’t flag down a server for some more.”
“Mmrph.”
“Well, just look at you go, Mr. Frodo!”
“Look, Sam. You can suck the meat out of these long, skinny ones.”
“Well, waste not, want not, my gaffer always says.”
“A very wise hobbit, your gaffer.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Perhaps you could catch him some crawbugs and cook them up for him.”
“Oh, I’d not want to be doing anything like that, sir. He’d like to snap my ears right off my head, if I put bugs on his dish.”
“Yes, but you could always tell him the new King insists.”
“Don’t think that’d make much nevermind to my gaffer.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“Still, I could always get the recipe and try it for you, once we’re home.”
“You’d do that, Sam?”
“Well, of course, sir. You catch ‘em, I’ll cook ‘em.”
“With lots of butter.”
“Well, if you’re going to want the butter, sir, you’re going to have to let me handle the nutcrackers. I’ve only got so many pairs of breeches.”
“You’re quite the wise-arse, Samwise.”
“I do try, sir.”
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END
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A/N – This one gets blamed on too many Red Lobster commercials during the Olympics.
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