Filling Santa's shELVES

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely connected to Tolkien's universe, and will not profit from this writing in any way. Seriously - I won't get a single, solitary nickel. Not even a coupon for fifty cents off a diet Coke. It’s pathetic.


Filling Santa's ShELVES - A Twisted Christmas Story


Chapter 3

Pushed ahead by one of the men, Haldir continued on into the room, his eyes darting from side to side, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "So many!" he thought, losing count after a couple of dozen, "where did they come from? Why were they here at all?" Suddenly, it dawned on him…tales of Elflings snatched away from talans in the middle of the night…parents waking in the morning to empty cribs…could it be the tales were true, and this is where the missing Elflings had been taken? Everyone always thought the tales to be untrue - stories to frighten little ones into behaving. It seemed far too unlikely that any Elfling could be stolen in such a manner. No one he knew had ever lost a child that way. It had always happened to a friend of a friend's cousin, or some such.

Legolas had no qualms about trying to find out the answer. Boldly, he demanded that his captors tell him exactly where these Elflings had come from. His captors laughed, saying only that "the Boss" would answer their questions, more than likely. As he was shepherded down the aisle, Legolas kept trying to talk to the little ones. Most seemed to be between 50 years and 70 years…no adults were in evidence. Not one that he managed to make eye contact with would answer him. As a matter of fact, all he saw in their faces was uncomprehending curiosity. He was certain that none of them understood a word he said.

At the end of the aisle, the Elves were pushed through yet another set of double doors, into another hallway lined with more doors. They were forced to stop at one particular door with a frosted glass window.

One of the men knocked on the door with the butt of his gun. Hearing a voice from within tell them to enter, the man with the gun opened the door and ushered the Elves inside.

"Ah…how fortuitous for me that it is you four who were caught! I cannot believe my good fortune! Tell the men there will be an extra bonus this week, Carlos…these particular Elves are a catch beyond my wildest hopes!"

Turning to see who spoke, the Elves were once again shocked into silence.

It was Saruman.

A much larger, wider Saruman, but Saruman nonetheless. His dark blue eyes sparkled evilly from under his bushy white brows; his cheeks were rounded over his long, white beard. Wearing only a long sleeved white undershirt, his leggings, made of a bright red velvety material were held up over his huge belly by suspenders.

"Saruman!' Legolas finally cried, taking a step toward him. He was instantly blocked by a man poking a rifle into his side.

"Prince of Mirkwood, a pleasure to see you again! And Haldir…how fare the Lord and Lady? Did they sail to Valinor yet? Are these your brothers…they look much like you," Saruman said sarcastically, rubbing the palms of his hands together. "I am so pleased that you could join us!" He laughed heartily, his men joining him, although they had no idea what the Boss was laughing at.

"What are you doing here, Saruman? Where did all those Elflings come from and what do you have them doing?" Haldir roared, ignoring the sharp blow he received on his shoulder from the gun another man was holding.

"Patience, March Warden…patience," Saruman laughed, immensely enjoying the moment. "To answer your first question, I am here because you and your damnable friends put me out of business in Arda! Where was I to go? I couldn't go back to Aman…I certainly wasn't going to stay cooped up in that abominable tower for all eternity, and I definitely am not the type to simply fade away. I came here…to the world of Men to make my way. That was several hundred years ago, I believe, by men's reckoning. I found a way to make the people of this world worship me beyond anything I had ever dreamed of in Arda. I am a saint to these people! Can you believe it? Me, of all people - a saint! They call me Santa Claus! And all because I deliver a few trinkets to their precious children once a year."

Saruman began to pace, as he explained his existence to the Elves.
"All these years I have delivered these trinkets, made by - and this answers your second question by the way - Elves. Elflings, to be exact. Benign, harmless toys. This year, however, things will be different. This year, the toys I deliver will be treated with a potent spell I have been working on for centuries. Believe me, I learned my lesson with the orcs…torture, while amusing, does not make faithful servants. This spell will."

"I saw no Elves over the age of perhaps seventy," Legolas stated, his hands curled into fists, his fingers itching to wrap around Saruman's neck and squeeze the life from him.

"Of course not. Adult Elves, for the most part, are too hard to manage. I keep a few around to take care of the little ones, but usually when an Elfling reaches his or her majority, he or she is…disposed of."

"Murderer!" Rumil cried, lunging forward. He received a hard blow to the head for his trouble from the butt of a rifle, knocking him to his knees.

"Sticks and stones, my friend, sticks and stones…" Saruman smiled, enjoying Rumil's pain.

"Then why did you seek to capture grown Elves this time?" Orophin asked, helping Rumil up.

"Ahh…an intelligent question. I am preparing a publicity campaign to promote this year's delivery on Christmas Eve. I want everyone on the planet to know and expect a delivery this year. Most countries in this world of Men detest the thought of child labor…they would see the Elflings as mere children. I thought to use adult Elves in the photographs. There is also another reason…"

"Pho-to-whats?" Haldir interrupted, shaking his head. "The Elflings are children! You are even more insane than you were during the War if you think we'll help you!"

"You will have no choice. There are a few Elves here, as I have mentioned, who are over the age of their majority - barely. Should you give me one iota of trouble, I will simply have them decapitated…in front of the Elflings," Saruman growled. Turning to his men, he said, "Unchain them."

"But, Boss…"

"Unchain them! They will give us no trouble. They can't possibly go anywhere - we're thousands of miles from civilization - and they would never leave the Elflings behind. Isn't that right?" he continued, looking at the four Elves. "Oh, and, by the way…that young Elfling that you met in the showers? He has been secreted away, to a location known only by me. One wrong move by any of you, and I will have him killed. Slowly."

"You said there was another reason you wanted grown Elves," Orophin asked, as the men removed his shackles. "What is it?"

"Oh, yes…you'll enjoy this, I'm sure. I am tired of spiriting away young Elflings, it is draining on me. I need to direct my energies into the spell I mentioned before. But, unfortunately, this world is large, with many, many people - more than you could possibly imagine. This year will be the beginning, but there will need to be many more years of gift-giving before I have reached the entire population. And some people do not believe I exist…foolish mortals. I will need to reach them through more ordinary means, such as toy stores. The jist of the matter is that I will need several more generations of Elflings. Since I no longer wish to retrieve them from Arda myself, I have decided to simply manufacture them here."

"Manufacture?" Rumil repeated, unwilling to believe what he knew Saruman was saying.

"Yes, my dear Lorien…your children will be my slaves."