FaraWars

Aragorn, Gandalf and Faramir sat together in the fragrant shade of the blossoming White Tree. Faramir had just unwrapped a package delivered by a passing eagle. The enclosed card read "To Aragorn, King of Gondor and Arnor. May this weapon you serve as well as me it did." In dirt-colored ink was the signature "Yoda."

"Gandalf, have you ever heard of this Yoda person?" Aragorn asked. "So many rulers, princelings, and lobbyists have been sending the Crown gifts these past months that I can't keep track of them all."

Gandalf stoked his beard reflectively. "Yoda...yes, Yoda. I remember him now, though it has been several centuries since I last saw him. A wizard in a small way. He had this peculiar way of putting all his verbs at the ends of his sentences. Looked a lot like Gollum, though his GGI wasn't as well-done. Nice little fellow, and quite harmless."

"Well, let's see what he sent Us," said Aragorn. "Some kind of weapon, is it?"

Faramir lifted a short tube of dull metal from its wrappings. One end was similar to the hand grip of a sword, and held two buttons labled On and Off. There were no other features and no ornamentation on the tube.

"How is it meant to be used, Sire?," Faramir asked. "It has no sharp edges, and it's not long enough or heavy enough to serve as a club."

Gandalf took the object from Faramir's hand. "Let's try these buttons," he suggested, and holding the object well away from him, he pressed the one marked On. Nothing happened. Gandalf pressed again and again.
He tried the Off button, but still without results. Impatiently, Aragorn took it from him and repeated the process, adding a shake or two and thumping it firmly on the arm of his chair. Still nothing.

"Faramir, do you want to try it?"

Faramir took the tube and turned it over and over in his graceful, long-fingered, nicely-manicured hands (the King bit his nails, and Gandalf's were rather dirty). "Look, sire, here at the very end of the grip--a tiny slide labeled 'safety catch.'"

The Steward stood up and carefully moved several feet away from his companions. He pushed the slide over, and holding the tube at head height and pointed away from the King and Gandalf, he pressed the On button. But at the very instant he did so, a bee, drunk with the nectar of the flowers of the White Tree, bumbled inside his collar and stung him.

With a yelp of surprise, Faramir spun around, arms flailing, just as a bar of brilliant white light shot from the end of the tube. There was a brief hum and then the thud of two falling bodies. The Steward stood aghast, the white light trembling in his grasp, as he gazed at the headless bodies of Aragorn, King of Gondor and Arnor, and Galdalf, Wizard of the ages.

"Ooopsie."

*******************

Faramir, King of Gondor and Arnor, sat on his throne, his two beautiful consorts, one fair as sunlight, the other like night clouds lit by moonlight, beside him. Intensive research in the Gondorian archives and a quiet deal with a greedy but very skillful dwarf had had most satisfying results. Several months of well-simulated heartbreak, and a public reluctance to assume the throne had served him well. The nobles had urged him to the kingship, and the people had joyfully acquiesced. Smiling to himself, his hand caressed the light saber he carried tucked inside his robes.

"Ooopsie" indeed.