A/N

There were a number of reports in October of last year that Disney was considering a "Lord of the Rings World" for Disneyland. Coming across such reports, that...raised an eyebrow of mine to be honest, mainly on the question of rights to the franchise. But it did get me wondering - what if Disney made an adaptation of Lord of the Rings? And if they did, would that technically make characters like Éowyn and Arwen Disney princesses? Would they go through the standard "I want something more" routine? I...dunno. But since one can be snarky about anything and everything, it gave me the idea to jot this down.

Something More

"Okay, this is ridiculous."

No-one responded to Éowyn. Chances were, in the hustle and bustle of the Edoras set, as support staff milled about, no-one heard her either. But she said it out loud anyway. Because there were some things in Middle-earth, and…Earth-earth that were just too strange not to say out loud.

Exterior shot – Éowyn runs through the fields and…

And she closed the script. She'd sometimes wondered if Rohan had the right idea of recording its history orally. No writing, no reading, no ease in negotiating treaties and whatnot. But she figured that if this was the type of stuff that was to be written down, maybe her people did indeed the right idea.

"Wassup?"

Scratch that, that was the best idea in Middle-earth, Earth-earthor whatever upper or lower earth existed. Because her brother would not say "wassup" in a million years, or the entire history of Arda. Whichever was longer. Maybe she'd read The Silmarrillion someday.

"Brother…" Éowyn said, watching as Éomer took a seat by her, the one labelled "actor" in the same way as "director," "producer," and even "stuntman." "You look well."

Éomer took a swig from a flask at his belt. "I'm not. You try riding an animated horse for five hours and see how you feel."

"Well, at least you actually get to ride," Éowyn exclaimed. "I don't get to use a horse until Return of the King."

Éomer grunted and leant back in his chair, holstering the flask. What she hoped was water hung from his facial hair.

In hindsight, Éowyn thought, she didn't get to do much at all in the second book…or rather her original self, but that was something a bit meta. All she'd done was look at Aragorn, receive her uncle's orders, look at Aragorn again, and…that was it. Apparently by the time of Dunharrow that had blossomed into infatuation or something. Whatever – she was Éowyn version something, just as Éomer was version something, an animated form of someone who'd existed in fiction long before she'd even been conceived. She'd talked with her other film counterparts and got their thoughts, how her other animated one never got a line, while the live-action one got her role expanded (or…well, there were always purists in Earth-earth) and…groaning, she leant back in her chair like her brother. It was all too much. And the script wasn't helping.

"Look at this," she said, shoving the pages into her brother's face. "A song number."

Éomer grunted.

"Hello," the shield-maiden who never got to wield a shield until the third instalment said, waving the script. "Songs? Fields? The princess moment?"

"The what?" Éomer asked, opening his eyes.

"Oh yeah. I'm one of the Disney princesses now. You should see the merchandise they've got lined up. Oh, and Lego wants me for their game adaptation so-"

Éomer closed his eyes again. Apparently "what" only went so far as to the "princess" angle.

And I'll be the wife of the Steward of Gondor by the end of the story. Does that make me the princess of Ithilien? And Arwen becomes a queen at the end, so I don't know why she's on the marketing roster too but-

"Anyway," Éowyn said, interrupting her own train of thought. "I mean, it's ridiculous. Théodred's just died, Wormtongue's done his…thing…"

"That wasn't in the book."

"Directors have got to feed the shippers," Éowyn murmured, mentally shuddering at what she'd seen of the depths of the Earth-earth invention called the Internet. "And besides, that's when the song number begins." She tossed the script in her brother's lap. "Take a look."

To his credit, Éomer did so, and unless he'd gone blind in the last few seconds, Éowyn knew what he'd be seeing. Her running through the fields of Rohan with Edoras in the background, singing of how she wanted something more, to no longer be constrained by her gender in her culture. Some consultant called Belle had come and helped her with that, of how she had to pick flowers, let her hair fly, and do stuff that made her stomach turn.

Éomer tossed the script back in his sister's lap. "I don't see the problem."

Éowyn's jaw hung open.

"I mean, think about it," her brother said. "In the books you couldn't go an entire chapter without a bloody song or poem. Eru Almighty, it was like a musical at the start."

"But…I mean…I don't sing…"

"You did in the extended edition of the Two Towers."

"That was prayer," she said. "And-"

"Plus you got that whole standing outside the Golden Hall thing when Aragorn and co. show up," Éomer continued. He patted her on the shoulder. "Just be grateful you're getting a scene at all." He adjusted his position in the seat. "And that a horse isn't trying to buck you off every time between takes." He rubbed his rump. "Jackass."

Was that a pun, Éowyn wondered? Or a standard insult? She didn't know. And as she watched her brother head off to the buffet table, she supposed she wouldn't get an answer.

Sighing, she went back to the script. Wondering how she'd cope when she had to sing about the big wide somewhere and whatnot.

Still, she told herself, at least the song was an original number. Maybe she could get a Golden Globe or something.