TITLE: A Middle-earth Mary Sue Tragedy

AUTHOR: Lily Baggins

RATING: R (likely won't be more than PG-13, but I want to be on the safe side. Some mild profanity . . . sexual suggestion, but no sex.)

Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time

Summary: I was coerced into this. The author makes a disgraceful Mary Sue.

Note: There may be some slashy overtones in some of this, as it's from my point of view as a writer of slash. However---there will be NO actual slash or sex between any of the characters (including, sniff sniff, myself).

Thank you to Baranduin for the inspiration to use "Tragedy" in the title


It all started out quite innocently enough. I was at the gym, merely listening to the Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack on my Walkman as I ran on the treadmill at approximately five miles per hour, barely able to do even that. I wasn't in the best shape, I'll admit. And I suppose Lord of the Rings music isn't the best for working out, either, but I had extended my love of all things Frodo to even my exercise regimen, and the drumbeats in The Bridge of Khazad-dum do in fact lend themselves to speedwalking.

So it was that I was humming steadily along, clad in my old nylon jogging shorts which, unfortunately, showed my saddlebags; my oversized t-shirt with sweat stains under the arm; and my fairly new, thankfully, Adidas running shoes. And as The Ring Goes South came on, I began to speed up a bit, going faster and faster and faster . . .

Suddenly the world flashed by in an instant and I felt a huge gust of chill wind and landed on something quite solid beneath my back. Hard rock. Quite hard. And slimy. Ugh.

The first thing I heard was a most gruesome hissing noise. Then, an older male voice. "It's Gollum."

Another voice. "Gollum?"

"He's been following us for three days."

My stars. I knew that line---I knew that voice. Had it finally happened to me as well? I had read many stories of women falling into Middle-earth, but never thought I would be so lucky. I mean---I had a fairly decent, rewarding life, a good job---Mary Sues usually came from really terrible backgrounds.

That was my first thought. My second was: "Damn, why did I end up in Moria? All the other Mary Sues ended up in Rivendell tending to Frodo with his Morgul wound." My second thought was: "Crud. I have no razor and my legs are going to be hairy in these shorts in a couple of days." The third thought I won't share with you, but it had to do with my suddenly realizing that Frodo was surely only a few yards away when I heard, "Then he escaped the dungeons of Barad-dur?"

I sat up a bit, looking about, and poked my head over a rock---the very rock Frodo had been sitting on just an instant before. I felt it---still a bit warm from his rounded tushy. Mmmmmm . . .

And there he was---sitting next to Gandalf, his back to me. But nevertheless, I drank in his green cloak and dark curls as I continued to listen to their conversation. Hey---he WAS older than me, even if not taller.

"Ah---it's THAT way!" Gandalf suddenly said, and the others began to rise. As they did, Frodo turned a bit and must have caught sight of me. Suddenly his eyebrows creased together in a look of pure and utter horror as his big blue eyes fixed on me and his adorable lips opened widely as if to scream. Oh dear. I was giving my favorite hobbit a heart attack. "Gandalf! What . . . what is it?"

Within an instant they were all about me, weapons pointed, bows nocked, ready to take my bespectacled head off. I sighed, waiting for them to be taken in by my awe-inspiring beauty. Surely I had changed as I fell into Middle-earth---I had to be gorgeous now. But when I reached up to feel my head, I realized I still had bleached-blond hair in a messy ponytail, glasses because I'd been too lazy to put my contacts in, and that blemish I'd been fretting over earlier that morning. I was hardly Arwen's rival, and unkempt as I was, probably not even Lobelia Sackville-Baggins's.

Aragorn looked very sternly down at me, his eyes boring into my skull as he asked me who I was, and I would be quite lying if I said I didn't feel a bit of a sudden flush from his gaze. Quite lying.

Frodo decided to cut in at that moment with his own complimentary thoughts. "It looks a bit . . . a bit like . . .Gollum. Perhaps a relation?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Not skinny enough. Obviously female, however. Now, my child, where do you come from?"

"I am uh . . . a traveler . . . uh . . . I don't know where I'm from," I told him, hoping that would be a good enough answer. Most Mary Sues didn't know anyway.

"What is your name?"

Oh my. What name to give? My real name? Nah . . . my pseudonym. "Uh, Lily . . . Ba . . . uh . . . Baker."

Gandalf nodded. "Well, Aragorn, we must take her with us. To leave her behind might spell evil---she could inform others of our whereabouts."

Boromir and Aragorn exchanged a glance---I think---I was too busy glancing at Frodo every chance I got. I didn't wish anything ill to happen to the hobbit, but now that I knew I was to accompany them, I told myself that I would make sure I witnessed the Mithril Mail Shirt Removal to Treat the Cave Troll Wound. Ah yes . . . definitely. And perhaps, I told myself, this damp air would give Frodo a bit of a chill, whereby he might feel a bit feverish and I might be required to sponge him down . . . gracious, what was I thinking? At that moment I felt quite like a loser. A very lustful loser.

Finally the ranger nodded. "Very well---you come with us." Aragorn gave me a withering glance, raising his eyebrows at my---for Middle-earth---ridiculous outfit.

And so we set off at a rather rapid pace.


I was lucky to have my Adidas shoes on, but nevertheless, I was quite huffing in a short time. And worst of all, I was at the back with Boromir---Frodo was a good bit ahead. His head just came up to my chest, and I tried not to think of the implications of that. I must admit I spent a good deal of time watching him from the back, a little mad that his cloak hid his fine---if small---rear end. Damn. That meant I would have to look at Aragorn's.

I also kept concentrating really hard to see if I'd developed any magical powers, or faerie wings, or long curly auburn hair, or something interesting or unusual, but to no avail. I seemed to be just the same ole' me. Double damn. You know, I thought I'd turn into a hobbit---but since I could still fit into my shoes and was still the fourth tallest member of the company, I knew that had not come to pass.

Soon it was time to take a break, and we all sat down again, Frodo as far from me as possible. Hmmm . . . this was going to drive me bonkers. If I had to be dropped into Middle-earth, replete with war and mayhem and no Hershey bars or Big Macs and Ring-angst and plagues and barbaric medicine, the least I deserved was to get to cuddle Frodo a bit. Would he mind so very much? I only wanted a *little* feel. Just even a tiny squeeze would do.

We made a small stop---a bathroom break, if you will. Luckily these were all males here. All they had to do was aim for a chasm and that was that. No, I didn't see any of them doing that---I did try to watch, trust me----but they strayed too far out of sight.

But me---I had to squat. Luckily, Gandalf trusted me to go off in some privacy. I had to squat over the cold stone and pull my nylon shorts down, hoping against hope that 1) I didn't get them wet, and 2) I could do without makeshift toilet tissue in Moria, and 3) an Orc didn't come upon me while in such an undignified position.

Well, I had rather it had been an Orc, truth to tell.

I was squatting---nearly finished, you know---when I heard the patter of small footsteps behind me and a horrified gasp. Of course it caught me terribly by surprise and I stood hastily, wincing at the lovely feeling of having NO Quilted Northern as I pulled my shorts up and spun about.

And cursed. Frodo was just flying around the corner .

Lovely. He had had come here unsuspecting , probably to relieve himself (what else would he be doing? Oooo . . . don't think about that) and had been treated to the intriguing sight of my gigantic---at least to him---naked lumpy buttocks hanging out. Just lovely.

"Frodo---don't go!" I called, pulling my shorts up, oblivious to the fact that I was possibly alerting thousands of scimitar-wielding Orcs intent on rape and decapitation to our destination.

And Frodo stopped, turning back around and slowly walking toward me, giving me a somewhat haughty look---the same one he used on Boromir in the Amon Hen scene, if you recall. Really, he's got the pout thing down. I could just reach out and grab that lower lip . . .

"What do you want?" he asked, his hand going to the hilt of Sting. Oh dear. I was scaring him.

I looked down at him, wondering what to say. I could not say what I really wanted, so . . . "I want us to be friends." There---that was the standard Mary Sue line. "I would like to help you on this quest."

He kept staring at me, then looked down at the floor, biting his lip as if thinking things through. "And what makes you believe you can help me?" he asked, before once again capturing me with those big blue peepers. "Who *are* you?"

I was spared answering as Aragorn came around the corner, his sword drawn. "What is this? Frodo, I thought I heard you gasp in fear!"

"It was nothing," Frodo told him. "I saw her nude buttocks, and they frightened me."

"Her nude buttocks?" He turned to glare at me. "Why, pray tell?"

I sighed. "It was an accident. I was simply using the restroom . . ."

"What is a restroom?"

"Relieving myself . . . I was relieving myself."

By now, we had created a ruckus, and Gandalf suddenly appeared.

"What is this, Aragorn?" Gandalf asked.

"Apparently Lily showed Frodo her nude body, and it frightened him out of his wits."

The wizard stared at me. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Look, it was *not* my nude body---just my butt---"

"Gandalf! Aragorn!" Boromir's voice. "What is this?"

Gandalf sighed. "Apparently our 'guest' saw fit to crush Frodo's face against her nude bosom."
Now I was mad. "I did not! I might have thought it, but I never---"

Frodo now jumped in. "Really, it was not that at all ---"

"Mr. Frodo!! Mr. Frodo!! Where are you?"

"Sam, over here!" Aragorn called, and the hobbit ran up, quite breathless, and scowled at me.

Boromir laid a hand on Sam's arm to comfort. "Lily here was trying to seduce your Mr. Frodo, Sam. She had all her clothes off and was dancing nude on that rock there for him."

"My Mr. Frodo? Innocent Mr. Frodo? Oh dear . . ."

"I *was* not, I tell you!" But to no avail. They all started talking at once, Frodo trying to explain and no one listening, and finally Gandalf shouted, "QUIET!" and they did, in fact, quiet. This time Aragorn, keeping his hands on the hobbit's shoulders and pulling Frodo to lean against him, stared at me with hard eyes.

"Go now, back to the camp. I will take care of Frodo."

I held my hands out. "I did nothing! I swear . . . "

"Whatever you did, you scared him half to death. Now, go back with the others."

I sighed, walking off with the others, but I kept craning my neck around to watch the two of them . . . I heard Frodo's voice. "Really, Aragorn . . . she . . ." And Aragorn was kneeling now, in front of Frodo, talking softly to him . . . "It's all right Frodo---it must have been a terrible thing to see . . ."

Hmmmph. I was miffed. But still looking back behind me. Ah, Saruman's fingernails, this was making me curious. What were they fixing to do? What were they saying to each other? Their heads were awfully close. Ah, I wanted to SEE this tender hobbit-ranger moment! It was killing me.

But that mean ranger turned to look at me again and I had no choice but to return.

Back with the other I sat and ate my rations, not speaking. The others---especially Sam---kept giving me narrow-eyed looks. Soon Frodo and Aragorn came back, not looking at me, and sat. What had transpired? Now, I could hear Gandalf and Aragorn talking softly to each other and looking my direction every once in a while with strange looks on their faces. I imagine, from the few words I caught, they were figuring out whether to leave me in Lothlorien or the Chamber of Marzarbul.

I had thought of at least one good thing---I would surely lose weight doing all this walking and eating rations. Until I saw the rations. Sausage. About the most fattening thing anybody could eat. Some cheese. Oh man---my lactose intolerance just could NOT act up in the closed mines of this place. I set that aside. Hard bread---I think one of my fillings came out in it.

What they do NOT tell you is that no one in Middle-earth has very attractive teeth. I had it over everybody there---mine were whiter and a bit more shapely. But that's it. My hair was sweaty now, making Aragorn's look lustrous in comparison, I had no makeup on, my face was a bit broken out due to hormones----suddenly I cursed, quite loudly, causing them all to stare at me.

"What is it, my child?" Gandalf asked kindly. He apparently did not hold grudges. And he probably knew that even if I danced on a rock naked, it would be of no consequence to the Ring-bearer.

I shook my head. "Nothing." What I did *not* tell them was that I knew "that time of the month" was coming soon---if such things came in Middle-earth, which I'm sure they did---and how in tarnation was I going to cope with that in the Mines of Moria? I hoped, really, hoped, we'd make it to Lothlorien before that. I could at least grab some moss or something.

Frodo was eating with the other hobbits, quite ignoring me. Was he looking a bit flushed? Maybe a bit feverish? His nose looked a bit red, and he rubbed it as I watched surreptitiously. I sat very still, waiting for a sneeze, drinking in his adorable features and luminous eyes. What a darling creature. I didn't care about his size or his hairy feet---I only knew I had to touch him. Just one itty bitty touch, is all I wanted. Just to run my fingers through his hair, maybe. And cradle him if he fell ill.

I had to wonder at myself. Of course I did NOT want to see Frodo get sick---I'd be a sick person if I wished that on him, right? What was that syndrome when mothers purposely make their kids sick just for attention from medical professionals and relatives? Oh, yes---Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome. Did I have Munchausen by Hobbit Syndrome?

Of course, I was NOT Frodo's mother, and I certainly wasn't going to *make* him sick---I just wanted him to catch a slight little chill---just perhaps a sore throat and headache---and possibly seek the comfort of a warm bosom. Even if my buttocks were lumpy. Ah . . . Frodo breathing softly against my bosom. I mean---I was the only one there who HAD a bosom. Surely it would be comforting? Whatever happened, I had to cuddle him before Lothlorien. There were far too many beautiful elf-girl bosoms there to compete with.

Not that the hobbit would ever come near me. He barely looked my way, and when he did, it was with a definite expression of . . . not contempt, but intense distrust, much as he'd looked at Gollum. Except that right now, Gollum was probably more attractive than I was.

No, I could only hope that if Frodo met with any illnesses or injuries, I'd at least get to see Aragorn caring for him. Ah, now maybe if Aragorn got sick . . . Frodo would need some comforting . . . and I did know Gandalf would be falling. Yes, I would BE there. I would be there to pick Frodo up and drag him away instead of Boromir.


Ah, time to sleep. We bedded down for the night---me on the edge in a makeshift bedroll given to me by Boromir. The blanket was woolly and scratchy, and I wondered how anyone could sleep on this hard rock. Ugh.

Of course I watched the others as they slept---Gandalf had first watch and kept his staff lit up. Aragorn slept half sitting up as if he was still alert, and his eyes, I noted, kept straying to Frodo---especially the hobbit's firm bottom when he took his cloak off and bent over to lay his bedroll out. Oh yes, the ranger's eyes were misty . . . a bit glazed with what I presumed to be . . . mad lust.

Were the two of them . . . ? Hmmm . . . I would have to watch this even more closely after what happened earlier. If I ever saw them going off together, I would spy on them. I would watch. I have my dignity, but only to a certain point.

But this evening, at least, Frodo sought the companions of his hobbit comrades. He curled into a tiny ball, pulling his blankets close and snuggling up next to Sam and Merry and Pippin. How utterly beautiful he looked---his long lashes falling on his cheeks . . . his pink lips slightly parted . . .

Sighing, I lay down on the hard rock to try to sleep. Listening for any sniffling coming from the hobbit.

But to no avail. No sneezes. No sniffles. That meant no fever-sponging . . . no cuddling. Dang.

To be continued