Sauron Has Left The Building
A Lord Of The Rings parody concerning the fall of a despot
‘Well, Frodo did it’, said Gandalf, gazing across the arid fields of Mordor at the ruins of Sauron Tower.
‘And I suppose,’ said Sam, attempting to overcome the natural lack of self-esteem that his therapist said he really needed to work on, ‘I suppose even I helped a little bit.’
‘Frodo did it,’ repeated the wizard, his casual disdain for Sam’s working-class status unchanged by recent events. ‘The Dark Lord is defeated; his followers scattered. What now will become of this land?’
What indeed? A vicious despot had been expelled, but there was much work to be done.
For starters, many refused to believe the Dark Lord had been defeated at all. Rumour spread that the item of jewellery Frodo had cast into the fires of Mount Doom, attached to a convenient sinker, had not been destroyed. Many demanded that the remaining Rings Of Power be recounted, their anger fermenting into the passionate belief that Sauron would emerge with his strength redoubled in a few short years.
Meanwhile, the most litigiously inclined Orcs put together a series of legal actions against Frodo. These included charges of destruction of property, entering Mordor illegally as a foreign agent, and a variety of unpleasant accusations concerning how the ring came into his uncle’s possession in the first place. ‘The Baggins Crime Family is stealing our country!’ became a popular catchphrase at pro-Sauron rallies. Gandalf, cloaked from such trivialities by his expensive legal team’s threats of a countersuit, glossed over the financial and psychological ruin these legal battles would bring Frodo, saying only that there were some wounds the Hobbit would have to bear for the rest of his days. The wizard also swiftly contacted his publicist, ensuring his monopoly remained intact on the lucrative Middle-earth after-dinner-speaker circuit.
But what of Mordor itself? After such darkness and despair had dwelt in it, what hope could there be? Would anything grow in this barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and discarded Make Mordor Great Again memorabilia?
Ever the optimist, it was Gimli who first saw Mordor for what it could be. He set up a popular tourist attraction, roping Orcs into service as ‘Guides’ for Walking Tours of Mount Doom. He even offered Sam a position, granting him the opportunity to tell his story as it happened, provided the Hobbit agreed ‘for old times’ sake’, as Gimli put it, to lug tourists’ baggage, and the occasional footsore slacker, up the side of the active volcano on his broad shoulders. Sam politely declined.
In a move met with unbridled enthusiasm by precisely no one, King Aragorn granted Legolas a lifetime-appointment as Secretary of Mordor Development. Bristling at this outside-interference, maladjusted Orcs unaccountably ran roughshod over all his attempts to civilise them, and the Elf was forced to bring in more and more workers from Rivendell and Lothlorien just to get anything done. Suddenly, jobs filled by Orcs for generations began to disappear, forcing them to retrain in humiliating Customer Service roles, as their once thriving industries of grog-brewing, metal-work and traffic wardenry were usurped by smug Elves who’d even work in daylight, at a fraction of the normal fee.
Aragorn himself took little interest in Mordor, spending his time endlessly re-reading a volume of dubious provenance from the Gondorian Library, the title of which is best translated as ‘How To Become Immortal’. His sole contribution was to establish Middle-earth’s first ever Vegan Venison Burger Bar on the Plains of Gorgoroth, a project dear to Aragorn’s heart from his years wandering the wilderness. It was noted by many how much it brought to Mordor’s cultural and culinary life. What was less widely acknowledged was that Aragorn only spearheaded this initiative after being repeatedly denied planning permission for his pet-project throughout Gondor, owing to the inconveniently large number of Listed Buildings.
And so, slowly but inevitably, progress happened. Where once the Black Gate had loomed, dark and sinister, there stood now a bustling industrial estate. Where once travellers had been driven away by the Dead Marshes, they were welcomed now by exciting Wharfside apartments, offering luxurious living and easy access to Minas Tirith for those looking to escape the chaos of the capital, and the rising rent-prices the return of the King had brought with it.
Mordor became a thriving commuter-town, and franchise eateries did spring up in great multitudes in the land. And their names did bring no end of delight unto the Orcs, who found the very concept of languages other than their own both irritating and extremely amusing. ‘Pret a mangaaaaaair!’ they cackled with xenophobic glee, ‘Oooo la-laaa! Looks like cress is back on the menu, boys!’
‘Mr. Gandalf sir’, said Sam, ‘there’s just one thing I was wondering.’
‘If I have to tell you one more time why we couldn’t have flown to Mordor on the eagles —’ , huffed the wizard in a threatening voice.
‘No it’s not that’, Sam assured him hastily. ‘I’m probably wrong, but I was thinking. If we’d all just ignored Sauron four years ago; if the media had denied him the oxygen of free publicity; if he hadn’t been able to exploit the justified discontent of so many for his own cynical gain, I’m wondering, Mr. Gandalf sir,’ the Hobbit whispered, ‘is there any chance all this could have been avoided?’
Gandalf became very still, and stared into the middle distance.
‘What’s this?’ he chuckled suddenly, a familiar twinkle returning to his eye, as he reached a gnarled hand into his battered hat. ‘Look Sam, a fluffy white rabbit! I think he likes you.’
‘Why so he does!’ cried Sam, as the bunny nuzzled against him, and he forgot his anxious reverie. ‘So he does, doesn’t he?’
