Rating: PG-13 for mild bad language and comedic nastiness.

Summary: A rather dim-witted girl from our world falls into Middle-earth. What will happen to her when she lands in a place that she didn’t expect to end up in?

Genre: Parody/Humor.

Disclaimer: Don’t own the Lord of the Rings or the characters, places, and situations contained therein. I do own the Sues, though. . . but that’s probably something that I shouldn’t crow about. 🙂

Thanks: Big thanks goes to Auritech from the LiveJournal community Deleterius. The ending is inspired from several helpful comments that Auritech made. Thanks also goes to Bakhish for noting a misspelling.

Ellyson Anita Maria Susan Smith was a very ordinary girl. She loved Legolas Greenleaf from the Lord of The Rings. Her bedroom ceiling was plastered with posters of the noble Elven prince, who smiled benevolently down at her every night as she went to sleep.

Now, on this particular day, she was strolling along Fairweather Street in her sleepy little home town. Her school backpack was hitched up on her back, and she hummed a Britney Spears song as she skipped merrily. Her headphones bobbed on her pigtailed head, and her massively chunky, clunky sandals scraped against the sidewalk.

Because her mind was firmly planted in her fantasy world of meeting her favorite Elf, she did not notice the fire hydrant that her feet were skipping so merrily toward.

In fact, she didn’t even notice it– until she tripped right over it!

Ellyson A. M. S. Smith screamed as the concrete sidewalk rushed up eagerly to meet her young, beautiful face–

Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and then everything went dark. . .

. . . and she landed with a hard thump! onto hard grey soil.

Ellyson got up, and looked about herself.

From the looks of things, she wasn’t on Fairweather Street anymore. . .

The sky was grey and choked with ashy filth. The sun was a distant, wan red smear on the eastern horizon. The ground was barren and parched.

Ellyson thought hard, her pretty brow wrinkling in puzzlement. Had she somehow missed the concrete of her own world and landed in Middle-Earth?

It was certainly possible, given the look of the place.

Her eyes widened, and she squealed with delight. Middle-Earth! She was in Middle-Earth! Now if only she could find Legolas. . . She began to scan the horizon for the intrepid Fellowship.

Mind you, Ellyson had not seen all of the Lord of the Rings movies. Instead she had fast-forwarded (or slept through) the parts which did not feature close-ups of her beloved Elf Prince. She also had not read the books.

But she had read stories on the ‘Net where a beautiful girl was transformed into an even more beautiful She-Elf Princess. Hastily pulling at her backpack, she pulled out her makeup compact case, flipped it open, and stared at her reflection.

What she saw made her screech with delight. She was an Elf! Her skin was pearly and zitless, and it had that special Glow that all true Elves possessed. Her eyes, once merely a lovely shade of grassy green on Earth, were now sparkling pools of amber-flecked jade, rimmed with deepest purple around their pupils. Her curly blonde hair was now streaked with silver highlights, just like she had always wanted to have. . .

Gasping, she pulled her headphones off of her ears, which were, she found to her delight, now tipped with delicate points.

She squealed. “Oh my gosh! I’m a freakin’ Elf!” She paused, her expression dreamy. “And my real name. . . is. . . Taraieiel Windewen Moonstar. . . I’m an Elf princess. . .” She didn’t know how she knew this, but the knowledge felt so right that she knew it had to be true.

Enraptured by the revelation of her true identity, still staring at her beautiful new eyes and hair, she didn’t notice the huge, black shape that glided behind her on silent wings.

Whether Elf or human, Ellyson/Taraieiel never was the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

The Nazgul’s winged steed plucked her up in its claws with an expertise borne of long experience, and Taraieiel Windewen Moonstar was carried off to that big black tower on the horizon– the one that her keen Elven eyes had somehow failed to spot.

Taraieiel awoke on a hard, cold, highly polished black floor.

Her peachy-soft cheek was against the floor, and her luminous eyes stared directly at a pair of highly polished black boots.

A strange voice spoke.

“Welcome to the Dark Tower, lady.”

It was careful in its enunciation, soft, flat, curiously androgynous. It also contained a very dry, and very cruel, note of humor.

Taraieiel did not really like The Voice. It sounded somewhat Evil. She struggled to remember who this could be from the Lord of the Rings films. She had never heard this voice before. . . . And for that matter, where was Legolas?

“Who are you?” she asked shakily.

There was a laugh. She pushed herself up off the floor and looked up at the owner of the very shiny boots.

Her visitor was a man, dressed all in black. A tall helm, also black, crowned his head. His face was thin and pale, and his eyes were cold and grey.

In response to her query, his lips twisted in distaste. “Who art thou?” He practically spat the question back at her.

She got to her feet with the willowy gracefulness possessed by all Elves. “I’m Princess Taraieiel Windewen Moonstar, foul creature! Begone!” She tilted her delicate chin in a pose that she imagined to be quite defiant.

He rolled his grey eyes upward, unimpressed by either her great beauty or her proud spirit. This troubled Taraieiel; why wasn’t he cowering in terror if he was a servant of darkness?

“Come, Princess,” the strange man hissed, grabbing her arm in an iron-strong grip. As he dragged her out of the room, she wondered as to his identity, for she had never seen him in the movies. . .

The man took her to a long, narrow room. Moss and foul water dripped from the ceiling. Grimy cell bars lined the walls, and rats scurried into dark corners at the approach of the man and his beautiful Elven captive.

Taraieiel blanched as she saw hands thrusting themselves out through the rusting cell door bars. They grasped futilely at the black-clad man, and soft female voices pleaded from within the cells, “Please! Let us go! Let us go!”

Suddenly the man stopped walking and thrust Taraieiel away from him. In the dim, flickering light of torches, he stared angrily at her. “Why art thou in the realm of Arda?” he asked abruptly.

Taraieiel blinked her large, multi-hued eyes at him, confounded. “What? Arda. . .? What’s Arda?”

He glared at her with contempt. “This realm,” he hissed, “is but a portion of Arda. Mordor is but a portion of Middle-Earth.”

” ‘Kay.” Taraieiel looked about herself, ever hopeful. “Is Legolas here?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Oh.”

There was a long pause. Finally Taraieiel said, tossing her head, “Well, I need to go find the Fellowship, so I can fulfill my destiny with Legolas Greenleaf. ‘Bye.”

She turned to leave, but a wall of fire sprang up before her, and she screamed in terror. The evil man spoke again, then, and his voice was cold.

“Thy ‘destiny’? Thou seekest the Fellowship of the Ring? Thou art a fool, child!”

He grabbed her arm again and pulled her so that she was face-to-face with him. “Thou thinkest, perhaps, that thou art special or sacred in the eyes of Eru Iluvatar, and that thy simpering lust for this. . . Legolas. . . merits thy foolish self a special place in the weavings of Vaire. . .”

Taraieiel stared at him. Who were all those people?

“Thou art gravely mistaken,” the man continued. “Thou thinkest that thou art ‘special!’ Or ‘unique!’ ” He rolled his eyes. “Or even, Morgoth preserve my soul, ‘creative’! Truly, thou art none of these things. Thy ludicrous countenance alone betrays thee!”

Taraieiel was beginning to cry at the big meanie-head Evil Guy’s words. Of course she was special and unique and creative! Everyone was always telling her she was. . .

Despite the silvery, crystalline tears that now pooled in her vividly virid eyes, she shouted, “Well, I’m not! You’re wrong! And you are stupid for being so mean!”

He smirked. “Thou art a cliche, lady. And hark! I shall prove it to thee!”

With a magic spell, he unlocked one of the cell doors and pulled its occupant out into the light.

Taraieiel gasped at what she saw.

The evil man had a beautiful teenage girl in his grasp. Her hair was long and black, and flowed down her slender back in untamed waves. Her eyes were black as well, and held within their inky depths the deepest sorrows and hatreds. Her full, pouting lips were as red as a rose.

Scowling, she pulled away from the man. “Unhand me, common servant! I am the daughter of Lord Sauron, and I must prove my worth to my father by slaying Aragorn, whom I secretly love!”

With a sneer, the black-robed man shoved her back into her respective cell. He swiftly locked the door on her, despite her shouts of “Release me! I demand to be taken to my father at once!”

“Perhaps another demonstration is in order,” the man said, looking back at Taraieiel. He unlocked another cell, and pulled forth another young teenager.

This girl was only a hobbit’s height, but she had curves in all the right places, and her milk-white skin indicated that she had some Elvish or fey blood in her veins. Her eyes were a deep violet, and her hair was like spun gold, if spun gold could also be streaked with black and red.

“We have so far been unable to ascertain this monstrosity’s true provenance,” the man said with a thoughtful frown. “Nor shall we ever, most likely, for the creature speaks in no intelligible language.”

As if triggered by the man’s speech, the fair hobbit hybrid shrieked, “WTF! U R so meeeeennn 2 me! Leik, buzz off! I haf 2 save Frodo from teh Ring! Hez my tru LURV! PLZ!” She gazed up at her captor with beseeching eyes, and tried desperately to tug her arm free.

The man thrust her back into her cell and locked the door on her. Through the bars, she wailed “U SUCK!!!!!!” at him.

From yet another cell the man dragged forth a she-elf, whose crystal-blue orbs glittered like the light of a thousand stars. Her hair reached to her waist, and it was hued deepest black.

“I’m telling you,” the girl shouted desperately, “I’m really Lord Elrond’s real daughter! Don’t believe the claims of that imposter Arwen! I’m his real daughter! I’M ELROND’S DAUGHTER!! REALLY, I AM!”

Unmoved, the man put her back into her cell without a word.

He then turned back to Taraieiel with a cruel smile. “Now, my lady, which of these abominations art thou?”

“Well, I dropped out of the sky,” Taraieiel muttered, her confidence much deflated.

His lip curled. “Another one! Come, we have a cell already available.”

Taraieiel was led to an empty cell, and the man shoved her inside without ceremony. He locked the door behind her.

“Wait!” Taraieiel shouted suddenly, reaching out from behind the bars. She had only just noticed something– her backpack was no longer on her back!

The man paused. “Yes?” he hissed impatiently.

Taraieiel said beseechingly, “Can I have my backpack?”

He disappeared in a crack of sound and a whiff of sulphur, and then reappeared in a moment, holding her backpack, which was festooned with laminated button-pins of Legolas. He tossed it into her cell with her. Then, with a shake of his head, he disappeared again, muttering, “Damned Sues! They infest Arda like a veritable plague!”

Taraieiel slipped on her headphones, and popped in her Evanescence CD. At least she could hear some rockin’ music while she waited for her beloved Prince Greenleaf to rescue her.

But then, she realized something horrible: there was no sound.

Taraieiel’s sparkling eyes widened. She popped open the CD player’s case for the batteries, and to her horror found that there were no batteries inside. . .

Frantically, she searched her backpack for any spare batteries. There were only two, and those had been quite deliberately cracked open. The sulfuric acid contained therein had then been quite liberally sprinkled over her Legolas-sticker-plastered diary and the knock-off Evenstar necklace that she had bought at K-Mart for only $9.99.

From the dark, musty depths of the Barad-dur, a She-Elf’s scream of horror reverberated through the stone walls, and somewhere, not too far away, the Mouth of Sauron smiled.

His vengeance was complete.