I do not own any of the LOTR characters, or any giant theme parks. Any similarity is purely coincidental. Really.

Summary: Theme Park giant develops an amusement park based on the world of LOTR. Out of work after the ROTK, the 9 Walkers take jobs playing themselves. How will they survive the most dreaded enemies they have ever faced...tourists? AU...most definitely AU. PG13 for occasional crude language and situations. I'm afraid I took a little artistic license with the characters - for example, bringing them back from the dead; ignoring certain key plot points in the books, etc. Please forgive.

Chapter 1 A Whole New World

"Welcome to your first day of orientation, gentlemen!" sang the very perky tour guide, bouncing up and down on her toes and flashing them a 10,000 watt smile. "We're going to have such fun today! We'll be getting our costumes, touring the park, and learning all there is to know about Middle Earth World! Aren't you excited? Let's get started!"

The 9 men stood facing her, shifting from foot to foot, and looking extremely uncomfortable.

Four were child sized, hairy footed Hobbits; one was a short, heavily bearded Dwarf; two were normal sized human men, both sporting beards; one was a tall, platinum blonde elf; and the last was an elderly man with a long white hair and beard. All were dressed in khaki shorts, "We Love ME" tee shirts, and small buttons that read, "Earning My Rings." All looked as though they'd rather be slow dancing with an Orc than be here at this moment.

"How by the gods did we get into this? Have we no pride left? Dwarves were not meant to wear short pants. They make me look bowlegged!" Gimli muttered under his beard.

"We've been through this a thousand times, Master Dwarf. We needed to find something to do after the War, and Aragorn needs gold to fix all the damage the Urak-hai did to Minas Tirith," Legolas whispered. "And you are bowlegged."

"If I had me axe, I'd cleave that pointy-eared skull of yours in two," grumbled Gimli, looking up at the tall elf.

"You would need a ladder to reach it, mellonamin," replied Legolas with a small smile, dodging the fist Gimli aimed at his thigh.

"Alrighty then," their guide said, waving her fingers at the two squabbling in the back row, "let's turn those frowns upside down! Our guests won't feel comfortable if you're bickering with each other," she said, flashing that annoying smile again.

"I take it back, Laddie. I'd much rather cleave her skull," whispered Gimli, flashing a fake, yellowed grin at the guide. He was rewarded by a slight snort of agreement from the elf.

"Our first stop is our costuming department, where we keep all of the costumes for Middle Earth World. The costuming department, as well as our employee cafeterias, break rooms, and offices are actually located underneath the park in a series of tunnels," explained the guide as she led them to the tunnel entrance.

Gimli's his eyes lit up at the prospect of a dank, earthy tunnel, but he was sorely disappointed when the tunnels turned out to be cement, and brightly lit by fluorescent lighting. "Well, at least it's underground," he thought, pumping his short legs to keep up with the group.

"Since you will all be playing "face" characters, by which I mean characters that do not need masks or prosthetics, you will be fitted for your costumes here in the Costuming Department. Right this way!" The guide motioned for the group to follow her into a room off the main tunnel.

The group entered a very large room lined with rows upon rows of costumes: gowns, robes, jerkins, leggings, and capes; silks, brocades, leather, wool, and feathers; helmets, crowns, wigs, and armor and weaponry of every conceivable type.

"Exactly who would wear such things in Middle Earth?" asked Gandalf, eyeing a very ornate, neon yellow jerkin trimmed with silver tassels and bells.

"Perhaps someone who wished to have his enemy laugh himself to death?" quipped Boromir.

An older, short, rotund woman stood behind a desk near the entrance. "What character, and what size?" she asked Gandalf.

"I am Gandalf the White," he replied rather regally, looking down his long nose at her. "I know not the size of the garment I will require."

"Fine," huffed the woman, stepping from around the desk. She held up a measuring tape. "Raise your arms, please." She quickly measured Gandalf's arms, waist, and torso. She bent to measure his inseam, but was stopped by a firm hand on her arm.

"Milady, it is unseemly that you would seek to take such liberty with me without my at least knowing your name," Gandalf said, raising his rather bushy brows.

"My name is Matilda, just like it says on my nametag," she replied, tapping the little plastic pin she wore, and narrowing her eyes at him. "Now spread 'em, because I don't have time to deal with nonsense. You're holding up the line!"

"I'll thank you to remember to whom you are speaking, madam! I am the White Wizard! I..."

Straightening up, Matilda interrupted Gandalf with a low menacing voice, "If we are gonna have a problem here, Oh White Wizard, I should warn you that my pocket is full of very long, very sharp straight pins, and I'll have no problem using your privates as a pincushion!" She drew out a handful of pins and waved them in that general direction.

Swallowing hard, Gandalf managed a half smile and said, "Of course, please proceed, Milady."

From across the room, the Hobbits were raising a ruckus.

"Our feet are already leathery and hairy! Mr. Frodo, tell 'im we don't need to wear those horrible things!" Sam whined.

"It's folly! We are Hobbits. This is what Hobbit feet really look like!" Merry cried, shoving his hairy, dirty foot under the attendant's nose. Pippin nodded vigorously while pointing at Merry's foot.

"We don't care what freaky little foot disorder you guys have," sniffed the pimply faced attendant, making a face and pushing Merry's foot to the side, "we can't let you run around the park barefoot! If you want to play a hobbit, you'll have to wear these." He held out a pair of oversized, hairy, plastic feet to Sam.

Glumly, Sam and the other Hobbits each took a pair of feet, and their designated costumes. The guide then marched the entire group over to the dressing room.

"Okay, everyone, you may get changed in here. Here are your locker numbers and combinations. Make sure you memorize the number of your locker and the combination, so you can retrieve your clothes at the end of the day. You cannot, repeat, cannot take the costumes home with you," the guide said, gesturing the group to go inside, "We'll meet back here in 15 minutes."

The group of nine gamely walked into the changing room, and began milling up and down the long rows searching for their assigned lockers. Ignoring the curious glances of other employees in various states of undress, they peered intently at the locker numbers, searching for the ones that matched the numbers given them by their guide. The Hobbits had to keep boosting each other up in order to see the numbers.

"Pity we cannot take these home with us because I am dying to model this for Arwen and my court," Aragorn said sarcastically, fingering the fuschia colored, fake ermine trimmed robe he held in his arms.

"What are you grumbling about?" Boromir asked sharply, "I have to wear these!" He held up the turquoise and orange jerkin and purple leggings he carried. "First one who laughs meets the business end of my fist!" he warned.

"Take heart that you will look somewhat manly, Boromir," Legolas admonished. He looked forlornly at the shiny, silver lame' tunic and leggings given him by costuming. "These breeches will leave nothing to the imagination. And that woman in costuming pinched my hindquarters!" he declared indignantly.

"My robes themselves are not so bad," Gandalf said thoughtfully, "but the tailor must have been truly in his cups when he embroidered these Elven symbols on them! I tried to explain to that horrid woman back there that there must be some grievous error, but she would not listen!"

"What do they say, Gandalf?" asked Frodo.

"Roughly translated, they say "Your mother mates with wargs," Gandalf replied, shooting an evil look back in the direction of the costuming department.

" At least you don't have to wear fake feet," Frodo said under his breath. The other Hobbits sighed in sympathy.

"What type of armor do ye ken this to be?" asked Gimli, rapping on the cheap plastic helmet he carried. "It doesn't look to provide much protection at all. The first time I'm rapped on the head me brains will be in me boots! And this axe - it has no heft! It would nary cut butter - I'm embarrassed to be in the same room with it, never mind carry it!" he groused.

"Aye! The same could be said for this sword - it bends!" Boromir exclaimed, demonstrating by wiggling the blade back and forth. He tossed it up in the air and caught it by the blade. "Witness this, nary a scratch," he continued, shaking his head in disgust. "A madman must have been the smithy!"

"Perhaps someone could explain to me exactly how I am to fire these arrows?" Legolas asked, looking from face to face. He held out a clump of nine or ten arrow shafts firmly glued into the quiver. Turning it upside down and shaking it vigorously failed to release the shafts. "My bow isn't even strung, and it seems the same misfortune has met my knives. I cannot remove them from their sheathes."

"My staff looks able enough," Gandalf contributed, his long fingers tracing the smoothness of the plastic, "but tis so lightweight! What harm will this bestow on mine enemy?"

Eventually, after much grumbling and fist banging against the aluminum lockers in their attempts to unlock them, the Walkers dressed, however reluctantly, in their new costumes. As they returned to the tunnel to meet up with their guide, the Hobbits trailed behind, their new plastic feet making thumping, scraping sounds against the concrete.