A/N: I strike back, changing the old Mary Sue.
A/N2: This is another revision, and a slightly more complicated one. This chapter is still far from comparing to any one of the chapters after it, but it was necessary to illustrate the "Author", seen below. Anything in normal text is meant to be the Author of the Sue writing, and everything that is not is the fic proper.
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A girlish squeal could be heard in the blackness of space, and then the sound of fingers contacting with a keyboard. Not knowing how much she was tormenting Canon characters, the Author worked her imagination and typed. The blackness changed, and the text became real.
Aragorn, King of Gondor, was worried. Amidst the terrible rise and fall of the Dark Lord Sauron, a new force, terrible, dark and wreathed in shadow, had grown, unnoticed amongst the panic Unknown to all the free people in Middle-Earth until it was far too late. Now, the old lord had fallen, and a queen arose in his place. A new breed of evil, delving into a dangerous and complex mix of magic both old and new, had buried into strength and laid its foundations carefully. Now her power was growing.
Aragorn grumbled mentally. He surveyed the narrative thus far and winced.
I would appreciate some control over my inner thoughts. My word choice scares myself.
He had sent out messengers, to Faramir Steward of Gondor, Eomer Horse-lord, Gimli, Legolas, all old friends and great warriors alike to him. If there was any time he needed their loyalty, friendship and counsel, it was now. They all should be arriving in an hour or less now. The opening of the throne room door awoke Aragorn from his thoughts, both fictional and rational. It was Lady Arwen, his wife, whom was followed by Gimli, Faramir, Legolas and Eomer. The king quickly arose to greet his guests.
This sounds oddly familiar, as though I have done this very same thing the past thirty times some female dropped into my land. How coincidental.
'Ah, welcome, my friends. I am glad that you were all able to make the trip here at my expense.'
I would have stopped it if I could, Legolas. I am sorry for your loss.
Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood Forest, kept his elven face grim.
The Author would have written in a more invigorating description of how fair his face was, how bright his eyes shone so on and so forth, but she was too busy drooling to care. The sheer out-of-character speech evaded her completely.
'Do not banter over petty matters, Aragorn. We all know the situation is dire indeed. What is to be done?'
Aragorn slumped back into his chair; he knew that the elf could read him like an open book.
Please stop the narrative. Please.
Amidst the terror and war over the War of the Ring, something else has awoken. Long it has laid in slumber, but now, even after the Dark Lord's fall, it rises once more, and how to get rid of this Shadow is unknown to us. There is no weak point to it that can be found, and tedious yet unfruitful has been the search of our peoples to seek weakness, but still none can be found, and nearer still the threat is coming.
Yes, something so dangerous it nearly comes as close as the danger of the pink nail polish of the Mary Sue we will most surely meet.
'Setina is a new and darker queen, and most definitely more powerful, dangerous and cunning. Her armies are small, but deadly and experienced, hard to kill, and skilled in war. Worst of all, we do not know how to defeat her. There might be only one option.'
Many characters tried to laugh at the name "Setina", but failed since the Author would have damned them before allowing them to ridicule her precious work.
Faramir asked, 'And...?'
'Earlier on, I made contact with Elrond. What information I attained from him was of a spell, complex and unpredictable. One that would pick, without any help or direction, a single person from the future, and is only used once an age, in a time of desperate measures. The drawbacks are that once that person had come... He cannot leave.'
"He" indeed.
Aragorn wished, hoped and prayed that the Author would lose interest in the story. Doing so would leave him his free will, and after the mass amounts of torture he had gone through the King had learnt to appreciate it more than ever.
Gimli burst, his beard bristling.
Internally, Gimli wondered how hair that thick could bristle and resigned himself to his fate.
'Strider! What gives up permission to take a person from his time frame, without permit, and not return him?'
'Gimli, my friend, this spell, it only takes one who is worthy, and feel that he does not fit into his own time frame or society. There are few of such, I admit, but no one living on the face of Middle-Earth knows any other way of how to avoid letting the world as we know it slip into eternal darkness.'
'One might change one's mind.'
'Then again one might not. And we have no other choice. If we do not do this, that one person, and many others, might never exist. One for the lives of many, we have no other option.'
The dwarf fell silent. Eomer spoke up, breaking the icy silence.
'Where will this spell be performed?'
'At Rivendell, with the old fellowship, as well as you and Faramir, for Elrond deems that it would be best. I suspect that Eowyn, here he looked at Faramir, would acknowledge that peace still reigns over Gondor. Faramir simply inclined his head in respect. Eowyn would most probably leap for joy that she would have the chance to go chop up some Orc while he was away.
Some rather creative curses found their way through Faramir's mind. He wanted to rock back and forth in agony of the badly written descriptions, the ridiculous dialogue, the pointless plot, so on and so forth.
Legolas spoke.
'When, and how are we going to get the hobbits?'
'We will depart today, to the Shire, then to Rivendell.'
'At such short notice?'
'We have no choice.'
Only the Author has a choice, and only the Author could write us so terribly.
-
Those in Hobbiton would have noticed four riders, dressed in travellers cloaks, one riding a black stallion in the front, followed closely by a white stallion, which was unlike most other horses, which bore an elf and a rather grumpy looking dwarf, a strange sight indeed. Behind both were two riding brown horses, both stallions as well, and all rode swift and fast.
Have we ever encountered horses not "swift and fast" in these stories? Aragorn wondered whimsically. He looked at the changing scenery about him and noted that it was going past him far faster than was normal. That was probably the Author wanting to get to the interesting bits more quickly.
Suddenly, the front rider reined his horse in, directly in front of Bag End, sending up a dust cloud. Swinging himself off the back of his stallion, he mentioned for the others to do the same. The elf jumped off with light grace, while the dwarf practically fell off, all the time muttering about elves and their agility. The other two disembarked, chuckling slightly under their breath. The front rider knocked on the hobbit's door. A shouted answer was heard.
'Coming!'
There were muted footsteps, a lot of shuffling and a short wait. Finally, the door opened. Samwise Gamgee, Mayor of Hobbiton, asked without looking up.
'Who are you?'
The stranger, chuckling ever so slightly, removed his hood.
'Is that any way to greet old friends, Sam, or the King of Gondor?'
Sam's head shot up in surprise, and what he saw made him jump up and hug the man in front of him, though he was so short, his legs dangled underneath him.
'Strider!'
Sam heard an indignant grunt from behind the laughing Aragorn.
'Just because he is the King of Gondor, you forget the rest of the shrinking fellowship?'
Sam let go of Aragorn's neck with a delighted squeak, causing Rosie from the doorway to look at him in a disapproving manner. It was no way for a Mayor to act, but she sighed, knowing that the Author held power over all, including her husband and herself.
'Gimli! Legolas!'
After many greetings, they finally managed to get at both Pippin and Merry, for they happened to both be at Crickhollow on that certain occasion, both of whom were equally shocked and excited at the sudden appearance of their old friends. However, after a hasty explanation, the expressions turned to that of fear and worry. They all agreed to make the journey to Rivendell, and go on the impossible quest.
'This is very sudden, Strider. Why did we not hear of this Setina person earlier on?'
Aragorn sighed in frustration at their, in more ways than one, odd position. He wanted to sigh again, but the Author refused him.
'We were so occupied with the War of the Ring, that all other happenings simply slipped through our fingers, and now it is too late. Far too late.'
When we are released from this Author's short attention span, I shall be a very happy man.
-
In Rivendell, also known as Imladris, or "that nice place with the cute Elves".
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'Esa Euilend Filurn Gulienm...'
Essa--? Dear Eru, is the author just randomly pressing keys?
Elrond seemed to have amused himself muttering the words, and half of them sounded as though he had made them up himself. Most of it was nothing but muttered gibberish randomized when the Author pounded on her keyboard for lack of other things to do. No one knew what they meant, or if they even had a meaning. That did not seem likely, due to the fact that the Author was most probably a previous patient of some cross-dimensional funny farm.
This went on for some time, a tense silence shared between all in attendance, which included Arwen and Glorfindel. Finally, Elrond muttered the final word of the spell. It was as if four hundred smoke bombs had been thrown into the room at the same time. That is, if Middle-Earth even had smoke bombs at that point in time. The white mist circled around the centre of the room, forming a mushroom cloud, circling round and round, sucking itself into the centre of the room until it disappeared totally. Another dramatic appearance for the other character.
Those present tried to rub the smoke out of their eyes, quietly wishing the Author a long, painful death involving needles and live porcupines. Legolas was trying desperately to run away, but the Author still held stronghold over all in presence. Aragon was not the only one who tried to amuse himself with an inner monologue.
She comes. Legolas! Flee!
Of course, Legolas could not run.
It was a girl, barely sixteen, dressed in jeans and a casual tee shirt. Ah, the signature tomboy figure was here already. Legolas was definitely going to have a major problem on his hands. She laid sprawled out on the floor, until she regained consciousness, and sat up slowly, shook her head, and got up, not screaming, not looking the least bit shocked, or afraid, as all Mary-Sues must do in accordance to the Book Of Literal Perfection (Artistic License No. 2571, best-seller in more than 56 dimensional portal regions and translated into more than 5472 languages universal wide). Her face showed traces of English, maybe even American, faint though it was, then there was a part that was totally... herself. No other words could describe her. She was the epitome of Mary-Sue, the unrelentingly smart, beautiful and perfect picture that painted the portrait of nightmares. She looked around the room, interested, even slightly amused, not in the least afraid or confused. Finally, she spoke.
'Hello, Master Elrond.'
The audience just sat there, their abhorrence disguised by the Author and turned into badly written shock as they attempted not to gag at the lack of grammar or proper wording. Legolas was vainly trying to back-pedal away from her, trying to shield his eyes and run, but the Author still refused them free reign over their actions.
They had expected the one to be a man, and that one to be very confused. This was the total opposite of what they had expected. This was the hope of Middle-Earth?
All of this would be properly dramatic if most of us did not know how it were going to end already.
'My, you few are extremely... Silent today. At least a greeting for a girl who has just dropped into a book, or if Middle-Earth possibly existed, back in time?'
Elrond tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He failed, and perhaps not due to too much effort.
'Well, I greet you, lady...?'
'Allesa, Master Elrond.'
'Yes. Well firstly, we were expecting a man, and a confused one. You seem to have taken being pulled back in time in your stride.'
'I see no need to shriek like an scared child.'
'And you know us... how?'
'Your doings are but a story to us in the future. I grew up reading about Middle-Earth and its history, and many times it felt very real.'
Elrond fell silent and thoughtful, wondering how on Middle-Earth Eru had the sense of humour to put him, his advisors, kin and Fellowship into the same situations time and time again. After a moment of inner self pity and thoughts which involved heading over to Valinor for the rest of his days, he spoke, even though he knew what was going to be said after him. It was kind of like a foresighted hindsight.
'I suppose you would ask why you are here,' Elrond said, resigned and reciting the lines from memory.
'That would be nice to know, I suppose.'
'Well, I see an explanation is needed,' Erestor said, equally as dull and disinterested.
After a through explanation of their standings, Gimli could stand it no more. He stood and cried out, even as he tried not to, knowing it would earn him a slap or something.
The narrative made everyone cringe, and Gimli wanted to weep as he was forced to speak. He would have much preferred silence than hearing words his mouth did not want to speak.
'But she is merely a girl!'
The council tried to agree, but try they could not.
That proved to be a very wrong thing to say. Allesa's charcoal eyes whipped to meet his, icy cold and vicious. 'I see you finally noticed, master dwarf. And I suppose that you think me a fool of a child, though I be very young, and incapable?'
'You are a child, for one.'
Gimli praised whatever Valar that were listening that the Author had somehow given him a line he actually wished to say.
'Mortal Mary-Sue, what would one such as you know?'
Then he winced again.
'More than you do, for one.'
Gimli tried to behead her with his axe. It was like trying to destroy the One Ring with a toothpick. The axe simply rebounded off an invisible barrier, taking the dwarf with it.
It was then that every Canon character present realized that the Author had finally grown tired of the story and left it to their devices. The italics disappeared, the natural course of things returning. Elrond sighed in relief as he felt the iron control of the narrative end and his own free will return. He looked at the Sue, who was suddenly whimpering. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Sam was brandishing his frying pan at her.
'There is nothing we can do, as usual. We will have to run this through, save Middle Earth, get somebody to fall in love with her, then send her home.'
Everyone present heaved sighs of aggravation. Aragorn made arrangement to send most of his people back, seeing as that they would no longer be needed. Many began moving out of the room.
Few noticed that Allessa was not looking at Legolas, as she should have been, as every Sue before her (and there were many) had. She was looking at Glorfindel.