Pass the Palantir
Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, so I'm not being paid for it.
Author's Notes: I tried to put spaces in between stanzas, but I couldn't. Sorry. I also apologize if I ruin anyone's festive mood.
When Aragorn had been a child,
Reared in Imladris, sweet and mild,
At playing Catch, he'd been no good,
A deficiency he now rued.
The Palantir rolled on the floor,
Legolas lunged, and what is more–
Missed! It was the man's turn to shine.
He grappled with it, yelling 'Mine!'
He stood, triumphant, sphere in hand,
The moment his. He felt quite grand.
And then, to Aragorn's disgrace,
It slipped, hit Pippin in the face!
The hobbit thrashed, loud were his groans,
Then his wails gave way to moans.
A little kick, then he lay still.
On the company fell a chill.
Meanwhile, Sauron sat back, blinking.
"Huh? Hobbit hair?" he was thinking.
Aragorn was heard to mumble,
Apologies for his fumble.
Gimli and Gandalf couldn't talk.
Aragorn stood there, deep in shock,
And the Elf glared, as if to say,
'The next time, don't get in my way!'
Tragically, poor Pippin was dead,
Merry, despairing, sadly said,
"Aragorn, this is all your fault!
Prepare yourself for an assault!"
The outraged hobbit tackled him;
The situation became grim,
For Gandalf's nerves were badly frayed,
He leapt too late to the man's aid.
The ranger slumped against a wall,
And on the company fell a pall,
(Which is a lot worse than a chill.)
Merry cruelly kicked his kill.
The Elf nocked an arrow swiftly.
"There was no need for that!" said he.
"Don't shoot!" someone cried, but too late:
Death was Merry's untimely fate.
Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli,
Battled for a while, quite fiercely.
And then, at last, the chaos died–
As had the combatants–
And all was quiet.
The lesson to this tragic rhyme,
Is: Hobbits should not turn to crime.
Or: Never play Pass with Palantirs,
It always, always, ends in tears.