Some points

-My first attempt at LotR
-Albeit a very silly and as of now rewritten one
-Also generally movie based because most bad fanfiction is based on the movies.

My life is generally not terribly exciting.

Okay, no surprised there. I am very likely of the most common type of people ever. Middle class, suburb living, average looking young neophyte of life. The most interesting thing I've done all week is fall down the stairs in what I'm assuming was a fairly comical way. I don't really do much except read; sleep; occasionally rouse myself from a literary stupor to eat; and in some rare cases, pay attention in school, too.

Today was not particularly different from the contented monotone of my existence, other than it was an unusually nice day and that it was probably a holy day in some far off African culture. I would have perhaps returned to the book in my lap had I not been so absorbed in staring out the window at what must have been an extremely interesting spot on the back yard fence. There was not, in fact, anything particularly absorbing about that certain spot on the backyard fence. Just in case you were a fence enthusiast and were wondering. Mostly I was just quietly enjoying what must have been a very nice day as well as one can from inside an insulated suburban house, and was vaguely thinking about going upstairs to get a bag of chips. So yeah, a generally peaceful setup on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Little to my knowledge, I was in for a less-than-peaceful experience in about…3…2…1

"You! Girl!" a gruff voice barked at me. I, in my eternal grace and physical eloquence, fell out of my chair in a decidedly painful fashion. I then made either the worst or best decision of my life, depending on if you're so sort who enjoys adventure and astonishing revelations, or if you're the type who'd mostly be content with surviving long enough to have children. I stood up and turned around.

To say I was surprised was an understatement. In fact, to say that the previous sentence was an understatement was an understatement in itself. I was surprised, astonished, amazed, astounded, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, alarmed, floored, shocked, stunned, and other such synonym's for 'surprised' all rolled into one. Of course I probably would have been much more so than that if I had been a rational child. By 'rational' I here mean 'not currently in a fanfic'. Not that I was very rational in the first place. Not a chance in Mordor.

The reason being for me cursing Middle-Earth style, is the very same that I was surprised, astonished, amazed, astounded, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, alarmed, floored, shocked, and stunned, as there was several very strange looking, yet unnervingly familiar, people standing in my room.

There were five short guys, one with a beard, an old man in a white robe, two fairly normal looking men, and another one, fairer and lighter somehow. Now most people would have fainted dead away, or run screaming from the room, if only one guy, let alone nine, randomly appeared in front of them (not to mention carrying assorted swords, knives, bows, axes and other various (and very, very pointy) weapons) but since this is fanfic, my fainting would be rather disruptory to the debatably existent plot.

Several times I opened and closed my mouth, attempting to form intelligible words. In my formerly mentioned eternal eloquence, I said, "You—but—book—why are—how—"

My pointless babbling was cut off by one of the men, who looked startlingly similar to Viggo Mortensen. "Excuse him," he said.

I promptly shut up.

"But we have all been on the edge lately," The man continued. I wasn't about to believe my senses. There were plenty of good reasons for my suddenly believing the Fellowship was standing in my room. Perhaps I was dreaming. Yes, dreaming, and I'd forgotten that I'd fallen asleep. Or maybe I'd gotten into drugs without my noticing and was currently high on hallucinogens. And there was always madness. Yes. I've gone mad. Mad as a hatter. Of course. That's a good explanation. Even as screwed up as I was, I knew that book characters most certainly did not jump out of books and talk to people. That's such an obvious fact that it's hardly worth mentioning. You know, despite the fact that they're all there.

Well, so long as I've gone mad (or the participant of a very elaborate practical joke) I might as well enjoy it. Favorite book characters don't suddenly start chatting it up with you every day, right?

The man that I was pretty sure was Legolas was watching me warily out of narrowed eye. That perplexed me, vaguely. Mary Sues? Fangirls? Gender stereotyping, then. Hell, if fictional characters were running around in the real world Mary Sues were probably off somewhere attacking innocent elves. I have a demented sense of logic like that, see.

I finally found my voice, and boy when I found it, it wouldn't shut up. "Oh my God, what are you people doing here? Why are you in my room? How can you be here? You aren't real! Are you? What the hell is going on?" I said, or rather shrieked, and continued in a similar vein for several minutes. Well you can't really blame me, can you? Even in my apparent insanity doesn't mean I can't be surprised. Since my psyche has finally broken and is trying to make me think fictional characters are real—and standing perfectly casually in my room—I might as well be surprised.

Toward the back of my room, Merry turned to Pippin. "Am I real, Pip?"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure you're real."

"Why did that lady there claim we weren't real?"

"Maybe she had too much ale?"

"Probably."

I was still ranting. "You guys have a book written about you! I didn't think that it was—" I was cut off mid-rant by Gandalf, who was holding up a rather battered paperback of the Fellowship of the Ring. Oh. Right. That's the book I was reading before I went inexplicably deranged.

"You mean this?" he asked. I nodded dumbly. But before I could start on a new ramble of questions involving how they would have known about the books about themselves, Legolas spoke, still suspiciously glaring at me. Or do I have that backwards? Gah, now I'm confused. Even insane delusions have to have some kind of logical limits, don't they?

"We are here to complain," he said

I blinked. "Complain about…what?" I asked dully. Why were they complaining to me, anyway?

About five seconds after I asked that, the room (figuratively, of course) exploded with enraged shouts from the various Fellowship.

"Elbereth help me, the fangirls!" Legolas yelled out. Ah; so my suspicions were correct.

"Why is it Arwen is constantly portrayed as unworthy to be my queen?" That was Aragorn.

"And the Sues…the Sues!" Legolas again.

"Why do we act like toddlers?" the almost simultaneous cry of the Hobbits.

"I am a dwarf! I dwarf I tell you! Not a midget! Dwarf!" from the resident dwarf.

"Eru help m…the fangirl-spawned Sues!" Poor Legolas.

"I am no rapist!" Boromir yelled. Hey, shouldn't he be dead?

"Arwen is not a Gorgon!"

"My wizardly pride has never has been at its lowest!"

"Not a rapist I tell you!"

"I am a fifty year old Hobbit! Not a child!"

"The things haunt me in my sleep!"

"She is the love of my life! Why must she be insulted so?

"SILENCE!" I thundered in a ridiculously loud and resonating voice for a teenage girl. Even more surprising was that everybody did just as I said. Hmm. Note to self: use scary voice to frighten sister. [1]

"Geez. She's scarier than Arwen. A mad Arwen." Boromir muttered under his breath, earning a well placed punch to the gut from Aragorn.

I chose to ignore that. I continued in a slow, irritated voice. "Firstly…how the hell are fictional characters in my bedroom? (Merry groaned. "There she goes, denying our existence again." "Definitely too much ale." Pippin replied.) Assuming that I'm not actually a madwoman, I mean? ("Oh.")

Gandalf waved a hand impatiently. "That doesn't matter. The Authoress will just assume wizards can do that kind of thing."

"Oh. S'pose that makes sense. So what exactly are you complaining about again?"

"That frightening thing you mortals refer to as 'fanfiction'." Gandalf replied with a grimace.

"Ah."

"Okay…but what exactly am I supposed to do about it?"

Silence. An awkward one.

"Well…" Aragorn said. "We are not quite sure." I blinked.

"But we have noticed you to be a little…" Boromir added on, trailing off. You know, he REALLY should be dead now.

"Scarier," Gimli picked up "Than most of the other authors."

"Hmm," I muttered, if a 'hmm' can be considered muttering at any rate. "Are you sure it's not the Authoress blatantly manipulating facts and events for the sake of a good story?"

"Probably," Gandalf admitted.

I considered.

On one hand, this was likely to be highly interesting at the very least. On the other, I had different fingers.

"Okay, I'll help."

"Excellent," said Legolas, with a look in his eye that suggested he was looking forward to getting an arena full of Mary Sues to pick off one by one with his bow. "When do we begin?"

"Immediately," I announced, turning to the computer. "Although…" I trailed off.

The unasked question was in the air. "What?"

"You'll have to pay for your own therapy."

Footnotes:

1. Wait. I don't have a sister. Byproduct of insanity, I suppose…

If you have read the original version, is this better?

If you have not, is this any good at all?