Author’s Note: This story came into my mind after I spent a while looking at a forum that complained about Mary-Sues. In it, I have decided to pit the Mary-Sue of Mary-Sues against a normal girl. Let’s see who wins.

Disclaimer: All hail the Tolkien king! Not me.

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There are times you want to get stuck in Middle-earth and times you would really rather be safe in bed, reading a really good book. This time was definitely one of the latter.

But before I go getting ahead of myself, let me describe myself. At the best of times, I’m rather overweight. My eyes are gray, and my hair is dishwater blond. I keep it short and barely ever mess with it. I don’t like to run and can neither ride a horse nor use any weapons, save my tongue. I play the flute and a bit of piano. I constantly have my nose stuck in a book or inches from a story on fanfiction.

Anyway, that day had not gone well. My reading teacher had been gone, so I had double homework and had to lug my heavy textbook home. The cat threw up on my carpet, so I was in a decidedly bad mood when I somehow got stuck in Middle-earth. It wasn’t like in stories, where you fall through a book or TV screen or dream the tale. I just blinked, and when I reopened my eyes, I was somewhere totally unfamiliar.

Where is this?

Standing not 100 yards from me was a girl whose appearance defied all description. Her long, silky, perfect hair blew out behind her in the wind. It was a fiery red. Her eyes, large voluminous orbs, were a startling emerald. Her face bore no scars, no imperfections. She was, in effect, perfect. I, of course, hated her on principle.

“Oh,” she remarked, seeing me for the first time. “Who are you?”

“No one of importance,” I replied. It was true – enough. “Who are you?” I countered.

“Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow,” she told me. “And I am important.”

The way she said it made up my mind. I definitely did not like her. Anyone who calls herself important has a bit too much pride, unless they truly are important, like Gandalf or Elrond. I’m not the most humble person in the world myself, but I don’t go around proclaiming my own importance.

“Why are you here?” I asked, all the while fishing in my brain for a map of Middle-earth. The one time I could use my Tolkien books – The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth, and The History of Middle-earth series –, I mean really use them, I didn’t have any of them. All I had with me was my school clothes and a pack of Extra cool green apple mint gum. Not exactly your save-the-world materials.

“I am here to be rescued by Legolas of Mirkwood. He will fall in love with me, and we shall live in bliss forever!” the girl cried.

It was then officially established. She was a major drama queen, even more than I was. Sure, I got accused of being dramatic by my friends at least once a week, but even I, a fantasizer and reader, didn’t think that Legolas would fall in love with me. To use Susan’s word from The Chronicles of Narnia, logically, it was very unlikely. Almost impossible.

“Okay,” I said, still searching for the map, “do you know where we are at all?”

“The Ettenmoors,” she replied, scanning the horizon.

“Troll country!” I practically yelled. She may have had red hair, but she was either blond and ditzy, or she was crazy.

“Yes. Rumor has it that the sons of Elrond were seen her last. They will rescue me and take me to Rivendell, where I shall meet Legolas, my beloved.”

She sounded like a broken record or a princess from The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede. Lovely, conceited, and rather stupid, if you ask me.

“And what if he doesn’t like you?” I asked, looking around for a river. Ah! There was the Hoarwell.

“He will,” she smiled deviously.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. She was obviously deluded. Elf princes just don’t go around falling in love with teenage girls. They just don’t. It was getting cold, and I was becoming scared. The Ettenmoors are not a homey place, and trolls come out after the sun goes down. I had no wish to meet any of that horrid breed.

“Well, whatever. I think we ought to get out of here.”

“Oh?” She raised one perfectly plucked and penciled eyebrow.

This girl really made me mad. Before I could strangle her, however, I heard a warg’s howl. Wargs don’t look anything like Peter Jackson and Weta visualized. They are gigantic wolves with thick, matted fur and sharp teeth. I know because I’ve met them in nightmares.

But going on, I heard another howl after the first and then another. Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow – I hate that name! – just stood there, listening to the howls.

I would have given anything then for a sword, a flashlight, even my dog, but I couldn’t have any of them. I pulled a piece of gum out of the pack and popped it into my mouth. Hey, if I was doomed, I might as well die with fresh breath.

She noticed it.

“Gum chewing isn’t ladylike,” she commented.

I ignored her, blew a large bubble, and popped it loudly and with great satisfaction. She flinched. I popped my gum again. And again. And again! She was really annoyed, and I could tell. Maybe it was the way her hands kept forming fists or the evil glares she was sending my way. I’m not sure which.

The sun had set, and I was prepared for trouble. Well, as prepared as an unarmed teenage girl could be. I sat down and pulled my knees up to my chin. The wargs were still howling.

I didn’t think singing would scare them off; my voice was neither good enough nor bad enough to do that. With the bright elven stars, though, I was in a mood to sing. It reminded me of the cold night that I’d lain in the grass and watched the stars before going to a movie. Music, tunes, and lyrics flashed through my mind. The song that I sang, however, surprised me, not to mention her.

“Maxwelton’s braes are bonny

Where early falls the dew.

And ‘twas there that Annie Laurie

Gave me her promise true.

“Gave me her promise true

Which ne’er forgot will be

And for bonny Annie Laurie

I’d lay me down and die.

“Her brow is like the snowdrift.

Her throat is like the swan.

Her face it is the fairest

That e’er the sun shone on.

“That e’er the sun shone on

And dark blue is her eye

And for bonny Annie Laurie

I’d lay me down and die.

“Like the dew on gowan lying

Is the fall of fairy feet.

And like winds in summer sighing

Her voice is low and sweet.

“Her voice is low and sweet.

She’s all the world to me.

And for bonny Annie Laurie,

I’d lay me down and die.”

Surprisingly, the wargs hadn’t howled while I sang. The song was a Scottish love ballad my 7th grade choir had done the previous year. I barely even made it through without yawning. This time, however, I didn’t have the urge. Middle-earth was so much bigger and grander than I’d ever imagined. It made me feel so small.

“You’re not a very good singer,” Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow commented. I could have killed her.

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Author's Note: So there we are. Please review and tell me how much you loved it/hated it/both. Come on, the gray/blue/purple button is calling you. PRESS IT!