Authors Note: Well, here it is. My first attempt at a LOTR fanfic. OOC-ness. But I like to think of it more as what the characters are like when the book is closed. Enjoy, my little minions.

I sighed as I stared out the window. Rays of sunlight passed through some of the trees above, filtering through and warming my skin. The sky was an intense, celestial blue, not a single cloud in the sky. The day was beautiful, all in all. Maybe I should work on something… but no. Everything was so peaceful it would be a shame to work now.

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 spun around in my chair and stood up, wondering what the hell a gruff voice was doing in my room.

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, all rolled into one. Of course I probably would have been much more so than that if I had been a rational child. Which I most certainly not. 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 were several very strange looking, yet familiar, people standing in my room.

There were five short guys, one with a beard and carrying an axe, an old man in a white robe carrying a staff, two 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 pointy) weapons.

Several times I opened and closed my mouth, attempting to form intelligible words. All that could be made out was,

“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.”

I promptly shut up.

“But we have all been on the edge lately,” the man continued. I wasn’t about to believe my senses. Even as screwed up as I was, I knew that book characters most certainly did not jump out of books and talk to me.

Well, either that was indeed happening, or I had finally lost it and gone insane. The man that I was pretty sure was Legolas was watching me warily out of narrowed eye. That perplexed me. What had I done? Then I remembered all the Lord of the Rings Mary-Sues going after him (not to mention fan girls). 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, 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. Well you can’t really blame me, can you?

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?”

“Did she have too much ale?”


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 copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that I kept on my bookshelf.

“Are you referring to this piece of literature?” he asked. I could have sworn I detected amusement in his voice. 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.

“We are here to complain,” he said

I blinked. “Complain about… what?” I asked dully. Why were they complaining to me, anyway? Soooo confused…

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. Poor short guys.

“I am a dwarf! A dwarf I tell you! Not a midget!” from the resident dwarf.

“Eru help me… 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 voice for a teenage girl. Even more surprising was that everybody did just as I said. Note to self: use scary voice on sister when she steals my stuff.

“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? And just what are you complaining about?”

“That frightening thing you mortals refer to as ‘fanfiction’,” Gandalf replied with a grimace.


Merry groaned. “There she goes, denying our existence again.”

“Definitely too much ale,” Pippin replied.

At my previously ignored exclamation, Gandalf gave me a look that said, ‘Wizard. Duh.’

“Ok… but what exactly am I supposed to do about it?”

Dead. Silence.

“Well…” Aragorn said. “We are not quite sure.” I raised my eyebrows.

“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.” I shrugged. Well, it was true. I’ve written some demented stuff.

“Alright, I suppose. I’ll help you,” I say. “But on one condition.”

All eyes glued to me.

“I get out of school for this.”

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