I Am Dave, Fear Me

Deep in the tower of Minas Morgul, in a dank chamber lit only by the fires of Mount Doom, dwelled the Nine. Cold, green mists swirl around their feet, the stench of corruption, decay and despair hangs heavy in the fetid air. They sat at a circular stone table, shadows darker than the gloom around them, motionless, their fell gaze directed towards the greatest of them, their captain.

The Witch King, the Lord of the Nazgul, the Black Captain, imperious and terrible, drew his head back and in a deep, rasping voice spoke.

“Regarding the final item on the agenda, as of Monday egg and cress sandwiches will no longer be available in the cafeteria and a new range of subs will take their place. Spicy Mexican chicken is back on the menu boys”

The Ringwraiths murmured in agreement, a quiet ‘yes’ was heard from one side of the table.

The captain arranged the papers spread before him into a neat pile and stood up.

“So unless there’s any other business we’re done here. I know you’re all very busy gentlemen so thank you very much for attending today. Try not to leave with the pens please, they’re like gold dust round here”

The group remained seated. A wraith seated opposite the captain tentatively raised his hand.

“Sir”

The Lord of the Nazgul spoke without looking up.

“Yes?”

The wraith shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

“We’ve been talking sir, about names”

The Witch King dropped to his seat and rubbed the place where his face should be with his hands.

“Oh for f…..I thought we’d been over this?”

The speaker continued nervously, wraiths on either side noticeably leaning away from him. One studiously examined his gauntlet.

“It’s just… It’s just all a bit confusing when we don’t have names and it’s a bit… bit impersonal isn’t it?”

The captain tapped his pen on the table.

“I assigned you all numbers, did I not, number four?”

The Black Rider cleared his throat, killing a small fly caught in the blast.

“Number three sir. You did sir and if I may say so, that was a fantastic solution”

“Inspired sir” said number six, presenting a gauntleted thumbs up.

“Well, what’s the problem?” replied the Lord of the Nazgul.

Number three continued with the resignation of one who knew he would definitely be mucking out the stables no matter what happened now.

“The thing is, right, we were all renowned in our own lands. Royalty. Kings. ‘Oh no, here comes King Whatshisface they’d say, he once replaced all the shampoo in his court with honey on the same day he introduced two thousand beehives to his palace”

“Did you really do that? That’s great” said number eight, writing in a notepad.

“I don’t know, I can’t remember. It sounds like something I would do” replied three.

“Anyway, my point is, WE weren’t just feared, our names were too. Take that fat barman at Bree…”

“God, he was an idiot” said wraith five.

“Wasn’t he just?” continued number three “the thing is he’ll dine out on his encounter with Black Riders for the rest of his life while number nine here,” Number nine raised his hand. “the guy who caused him to spoil his pants, remains anonymous”

“Bet he doesn’t mention that part when he’s telling the story” chuckled number nine.

“He cried for his mum too” laughed number five.

“Ha ha ha I know, so funny. Great days” laughed nine, shoulders heaving. “What was his name anyway?”

Ringwraith six leaned forward on the table. “Barney…Barney..Butt..Butterby?”

“No it was Beryl, Ber…Bery..Beryl Barniman?” said wraith five.

“Bernie Bingoman” replied number nine triumphantly.

“No, Buttery Barleyhead” insisted two.

“You might be right” replied number six, pointing at his colleague.

The Lord of the Nazgul looked out of the chamber’s solitary window, sighed, then turned his gaze back to number three.

“Get on with it” he said.

Wraith three continued nervously.

“No one knows who we are, we all look the same….”

“Dress code, company policy” replied the Witch King

“…yes sir and we understand the need to maintain the brand image. Let’s face it, you can’t go wrong with black…” answered number three.

“Sophisticated, chic, exudes an aura of eldritch menace” said wraith four, nodding.

“Exactly. What we’re saying is we could really ramp that fear and despair up to eleven if we had names. Imagine one of us commits some heinous atrocity right? Local villagers are like, ‘who boiled those kittens in that vat of oil?’ and their mates are like, ‘that was Lord Grimjaw, one of the Nine, total bastard’. Next time they hear Lord Grimjaw is in town; complete respect. See? Plus the boys get some well-deserved recognition for their despicable deeds and actual testimony to include in their annual appraisals. It’s a win-win”

The captain thought for a moment, twirling a pen through his steel-clad fingers.

“Ok, I’ll bite. Which one of you is going to be Lord Grimjaw?”

The wraiths looked at one another. Number four raised his hand cautiously.

“I don’t think any of us have picked that *particular* name sir” he said.

“Well” said the Witch King, settling back in his chair “let’s hear it”

Ringwraith number three stood, aware of the expectant gaze of his brothers

“Dave sir. I’d like to be known as Dave”

Silence filled the chamber. The captain’s pen had stopped in mid-twirl and the black nothingness beneath his robes stared deeply into the not-quite-as-dark nothingness of number threes hood.

“Dave?” he said.

“Yes sir” replied Dave.

“Dave the Black Rider? Dave, the Servant of Sauron? Dave?”

“That’s correct sir” said Dave.

“You know there’s a plumber called Dave over in the Black Tower?” questioned the lord.

“Part of the reason I chose it sir. Dependable, reliable, Dave’s always there to fix a problem. Salt of the earth. Very much a people person” replied Dave.

The Witch King studied him.

“The only time you meet people is to kill them right? That’s like, the opposite of a people person” he said.

Dave continued, enthused by Daveness.

“I’d like to think that while I inspire mortal dread and fear amongst my victims they’ll take the time to respect that I do an efficient job, timeously, with a smile on my…..with a smile. ‘Say what you like about that Dave one’ they’ll say, ‘but he’s always got time for everyone”

The captain’s hand disappeared under his hood, rubbing his non-corporeal temples.

“Anyone else?” he said.

Wraith number sevens hand shot up.

“Monsieur Renard sir”

“Mons- what?” replied the captain

“Monsieur Renard sir” said Monsieur Renard.

“See Renard is French for fox right? so I’d be like, Mister Fox, meaning I’m sort of, sly and cunning and can come up with all sorts of sly and cunning tricks to outwit my enemies. Like a fox”

“That’s very clever” said number four.

“Thanks” said Renard, proudly.

The Lord of the Nazgul contemplated his officer’s suggestion.

“So are you going to outwit the forty beagles desperate to tear you limb from limb?”

“Sorry sir?” replied Renard.

“Doesn’t matter” said the captain, “very well, Renard it is”

“Monsieur Renard” corrected Renard.

The Witch King pointed a steely finger at the wraith.

“Don’t push it sunshine”

He looked around the table at the remaining Nazgul.

“I know I’m going to regret this but, who’s next?”

Number four rose quietly to his feet and gripped his robes, courtroom barrister style.

“What I’ve chosen is less of a name and more of a title” he said, in a manner familiar to experts holding Q and As everywhere.

“Oh, here we go” whispered number two.

“Now, now, let him speak” said Always Got Time For Everyone Dave.

“As I was saying” number four continued, staring pointedly at wraith two “It’s more of a title, one that conjures the image of a dashing and debonair anti-hero, someone who plays by his own rules but always gets the job done. Gentlemen, let me introduce: The Crimson Corsair!”

The ringwraith spun around with flourish, his plain robes transforming from black into a deep red.

“Ooh, reversible” exclaimed number nine.

The Lord of the Nazgul stared at the Crimson Corsair for a long time.

“You want to be a pirate?” he asked.

“You don’t have a boat” said number seven.

“Actually, pirates have ships, not boats” replied Renard.

“Same thing though isn’t it?” answered seven.

“Pirates are quite fussy about things like that. You’d say pirate ship not pirate boat” said Renard, now established as the groups expert on pirates.

“Why is everyone calling me a pirate? I’m not a pirate, I’m a Black Rider!” exclaimed the Crimson Corsair.

“Corsair means pirate, if you look it up in the dictionary there’s a picture of a pirate under the word corsair” explained the captain in a level voice.

The erstwhile Black Rider sat down and sulkily crossed his arms. Dave rubbed his back and said in a conciliatory tone, “You could be an ex-pirate?”

“I don’t want to be any kind of pirate” said the wraith, huffily.

“What about Errol Flynn? That’s a good name” sniggered number two.

“Jack Sparrow” added wraith six, giggling.

“No, no wait, I’ve got it” said eight, “the Dread Pirate Roberts!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The Nazgul collapsed in laughter, shoulders heaving. A tear dropped from number twos hood and landed with a ‘fzzzt’ on the table. The Witch King remained silent, betrayed only by the slight quiver of his cowl.

“I’ll get back to you on that one” he said.

“Right, who have we got now?” he continued, “Bashful? Dopey? Doc?”

“Glinda” said Black Rider eight, hand raised.

“Glinda? Glinda. Glinda. Well it’s not the worst I’ve hear- why is that familiar? Glinda” replied the captain.

“It’s a bit feminine” said the Crestfallen Corsair.

“So what if it is?” replied Glinda indignantly, “Some of us might have been queens, not kings. None of us can remember who we were before we got rings on our fingers”

“I’ve heard that said about marriage” said number nine.

“Glinda, Glinda, Glinda. That’s going to annoy me all day” muttered the Witch King distractedly, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Queens?! Don’t be daft” exclaimed number two, “They were once men; great kings of men. That’s how it goes, not ‘most of them were once men’”

“I’ve always taken men to mean mankind, like, you know, a general term for everyone” replied Glinda, “It wouldn’t be the first time the patriarchy has erased women”

“Why are you always banging on about the patriarchy?” exclaimed Renard, “It’s patriarchy this, the subjugation of women’s rights that. Don’t tell me you’re a feminist?”

A piercing cry startled the wraiths and they turned in shock to the captain. The Lord of the Nazgul brought his gauntlets down on the table with an ear-splitting crack.

“NEVER MENTION THAT WORD IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN!” he screamed.

The Black Riders shrunk back in their seats.

“What was that all about?” whispered Dave.

“I’ll tell you later” replied number two in a conspiratorial tone.

Glinda continued, warily glancing at the Witch King.

“All I’m saying is we might not all have been men”

“Well I’m definitely a man” said number six.

“How do you know?” replied Glinda.

“I…..I like football and beer” said six defensively.

“Well I like interpretive dance and cosmopolitans; does that mean I’m a woman?” replied Dave.

“No, but-”

“GLINDA THE GOOD WITCH OF THE SOUTH!” screamed the captain, standing and dramatically fist-pumping the air, “YESSS!”

He stopped and looked at Glinda.

“GLINDA THE GOOD WITCH OF THE SOUTH?!”

Glinda bowed her head.

“I liked the name” she said.

“Not exactly the epitome of evil was she?” replied the captain.

“I feel I can reclaim it in the name of all that is unholy and fell sir” said Glinda confidently.

The Witch King thought for a moment.

“Ok” he said, pointing at Glinda, “but I draw the line at ruby red slippers, understand?”

A hand shot up from a wraith opposite the captain.

“Yes Dave, what is it?” said the lord. Dave replied.

“Does…does this mean we need extra toilets sir?”

Two hours later, as the twilit shade of Mordor became the full blackness of night, the ringwraiths rose from the table, each the bearer of a new identity and purpose. The Witch King gave each their orders; bring darkness to the land, strike fear into the hearts of the pure, fill the souls of men with dread and despair.

And so it came to pass that Dave, Monsieur Renard and Hans Gruber made the journey west, to the Shire, seeking the one called Baggins. Like a sweeping pestilence Glinda, Annabelle Lecter and Don Corleone rode north and to the ruins of Osgiliath flew Baron Von Greenback and the Rider formerly known as the Crimson Corsair; the Taupe Terminator.

The Witch King watched his company leave and said to the air,

“I’m going to regret this aren’t I?”

Illustration by ChrisOzParker on DeviantArt