[zb]

All his life, Hama had been haunted by premonitions of his death. Whether it was dying in battle, being killed by Aragorn, or even having his soul destroyed and his body simply animated by Legolas clicking on Xbox controls, all Hama could think about was how he was going to die. This made him almost unbearable to have around, but he tried his hardest to remain a part of society, working his way up his career to become a door guard to the King.

One day, a strange man came to the King's halls.
"Stop, and declare yourself!" said Hama, trembling with fear at his mental pictures of this stranger using a dead ferret to clobber him.
"I am a therapist, from the distant land of Pop Psy, and I see you need my help."
"I don't need your - HELP!" Hama squealed as his mind conjured pictures of this therapist unleashing rabid squirrels onto him.
"What's all this about?" said another guard, running up the steps and unsheathing his sword. "Oh, it's only you again, Hama," he said, putting his sword back. "And who are you?" he said to the therapist.
"I am a therapist," said the therapist.
"Hama, this is just what you need," the guard said. Reluctantly, Hama agreed to book a session.

To his surprise, and the surprise of the rest of the court, the therapy worked. Soon Hama had no fear of death at all and took up bungee jumping as a hobby. The therapist became fabulously rich as all the wealthy Rohirrim brought their problems to him, for a fee, of course. Even Grima had some counselling. All of Rohan was happy.

One day, as he was bungee jumping, Hama felt the rope snap. Even as he plunged to his death, he had no fear. He died thinking, 'well, this isn't as interesting as that recurring cow dream I used to have, but oh well'.

"Wow, that was great," said Grima, putting his scissors away. "That therapist was right - I should take an active role in taking over Rohan rather than this whole passive-agressive relationship with the King. I'm going to get a sword."

The End.