Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR. If I did I'd be rich and famous instead of a random fanfic writer.

A/N: This will take place in Middle-Earth after the first-chapter exposition is done. Promise!

I Was a Male Mary Sue

Chapter 1: In Which I Escape a Buzz Cut

I locked the door to the bathroom in a frantic last-ditch effort to escape the huge Shears of Terror held in Dad's clumsy hands. I wondered for the millionth time since Dad had given up his job as a professor how the hell he'd decided to become a barber.

I fingered my ginger hair. It flopped into my eyes a bit now, which was why Dad had decided it was time for another Buzz Cut From Hell. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted to try his supposed "skills" on me. The last time he'd caught me, I'd been bald and nicked in some places on my head with short tufts of hair sticking up like wire in others. I tended to wear hats a lot.

I'd been holding out for a bit, though. My hair had actually gotten sort of long. I couldn't decide if this was because Dad had gotten to be more of a klutz or because I had gotten better at dodging him. In any case, it was getting a little annoying brushing it out of my glasses like this, but I wasn't about to tell Dad that. All he needed was an excuse. God knew he'd done enough damage to my head without one.

The stupid cheesy doorbell rang. I call it cheesy because it's one of those doorbells that play music instead of just ringing like a normal one. This was also a new addition. Since Mom died, Dad had pretty much gone crazy. He'd gone from being a perfectly normal math professor (if you can call any of them "normal." Trust me on this one—I've met Dad's ex-colleagues) to a nutcase who gave up tenure to get a singing doorbell and become a barber. A bad barber, too. Hence my current state of hiding under the toilet.

"Hi, Sarah," my Orlando-Bloom-obsessed thirteen-year-old sister Nina said.

Hold a second--Sarah? The girl of my dreams was in the same house as Dad Reformed, the Shears of Terror, and me? That last one would have been good, except I was cowering beneath a porcelain bowl at the time.

Nina's voice floated up from the dining room. "The doorbell is new. You haven't heard it yet, have you? It plays Für Elise." She added in an undertone, "It is so stupid."

I couldn't hear Sarah's reply, but it was probably something typically nice. I did hear the next thing she said, though. "Oh, hello, Mr. Larsen. Do you know where George is?"

For a brief second, I had a soaring feeling of wanting to die from happiness. That was quickly replaced by a horror that Nina or Dad would actually reveal where I was.

My worst fears were realised when Dad said, "Oh, yeah. He's in the bathroom. Do you want me to help you guys with your calculus homework if you get stuck?"

"That would be great," said Sarah. I could hear footsteps climbing the stairs.

"Hurry up in there," said Nina, her disembodied voice much closer. She was standing on the other side of the door. I could see her feet.

There was no escape. Because Sarah was here, I had to pretend that I was in the bathroom because I needed to use it and not because I was afraid of Dad and the Shears. This left only one option.

"Almost done," I yelled, and flushed the toilet.

A huge jolting sensation ripped through my body and pulled me towards the gurgling porcelain. I could feel my body being stretched and pulled out of shape as it tried to fit in that narrow space between cover and bowl.

An impossibly long, toothpick-shaped me swirled into the plumbing. Strangely enough, it didn't hurt at all to be stretched out and spun around at dizzying speeds. The psychological horror, though, was another matter entirely. It was entirely terrifying for a former short guy to be suddenly as long as a hallway. Longer.

My glasses were wedged in the drain. I grabbed for them with two-foot hair-thin fingers. To no avail, it seemed, because all that happened was my hand slipping away from the precious spectacles and swirling around like a final chunk of solid food in a blender.

From far off in the distance, although it was only the other side of the door, I heard Nina yell, "That's it, George! I'm coming in even if you've got your pants down!" Then there was frantic pounding, followed by the click of a key in a lock. Just when I realised what Nina using the toilet entailed, there was a frightened screech.

"Dad! Sarah! He's gone!" Running feet pounded into the tiny bathroom. At any other time I would be happy that Sarah was worried about me. But right now, I was too busy being terrified out of my wits.

With a horribly final gurgle, the rushing stopped. I felt squished somehow. I guessed that this was probably because I was back to my normal length. How I fit inside the pipe was another matter entirely.

However, there didn't seem to be a pipe anymore. I hurt too much to be sure, but it seemed like I was floating in a river. I'd try to figure out where I actually was in a minute. Right now I had to concentrate on imagining I hadn't just been sucked through my toilet. Maybe that would help ease the pain and dizziness of being banged against porcelain walls and spun around at evilly high speeds. Now I knew how crap felt.

The last thing I heard before I blacked out was voices. The last thing I saw was an exquisitely carved boat paddle heading toward my face.