I don't own anyone or anything in this story (except maybe Kelly).

Chapter 1: The Milkman Might Want To Join the Fellowship, Too

Frodo stood at the center of the Council of Elrond, marveling at how far he had come since he had first left the Shire as a ripple of pride and fear rolled across his spine. He had only intended to relieve himself of the burdensome ring when he had set out, and yet now here he was, eight companions-- some of tremendous importance, it would appear-- standing at his back, and about to go on a quest that would determine the fate of Middle Earth! And here he was, the centerpiece of it all, a mere Hobbit fresh out of his quaint, absurdly comfortable homeland! Was it him, or was it getting hot out? He tugged uncomfortably at the neck of his vest, breathing heavily, then ceased upon becoming aware that everyone was staring at him. He gave a sheepish smile, and quickly clasped his hands behind his back. Elrond blinked, cleared his throat, and continued what he was saying: "The nine of you shall be the Fellowship of the Ri—"

"Ahem! Excuse me, sir?" someone interrupted somewhat nervously.

"WHAT?" Elrond practically screamed, his eyes popping out of his skull. "What could you possibly have to say that would necessitate ruining my dramatic climax?! Stand up!"

And so the speaker stood. It was an elf, Frodo noted with interest, an oddly brawny female elf with gray eyes and pale, less-than-lustrous blond hair. Her voice was a bit harsh and loud when she said, "I would like to join the Fellowship, too, sir. As a representative of, er, elf women. Please? Pretty please with sugar and candy and cherries and dead hyenas and pickles and industrial grade titanium on top?""

Elrond squinted at her, trying to remember if he had ever seen her before. "Who are you?" he asked finally, unable to recall her.

"Umm… Kelithelia Moongrace, sir, Princess of the, uh, Silverglade Clan."

"I've never heard of the Silverglade Clan."

"I would expect not, sir. We live in the farthest reaches of the, erm, Mirkwood, sir, and we're a very secretive group," she responded.

Frodo was practically laughing by this point. It was incredibly obvious that this very odd elf woman was lying like crazy. Elrond didn't even know her, hadn't even heard the "Silverglade Clan". Frodo didn't understand what her motives for joining the Fellowship could possibly be, but even to him it was plain there was no chance she would become part of the Fellowship. After all, what complete and utter moron would send such a strange unknown person on such a vital adventure?

"Okay, then, Kelithelia Moongrace, Princess of the Silverglade Clan of the Elves of Mirkwood, I suppose you can come."

Frodo's jaw dropped open and his eye developed a terrible twitch. Was Elrond off his rocker? Was even now some awful disease attacking the elf-lord's befuddled brain? It had been something of a warning sign, Frodo believed now, when Elrond had allowed Pippin to join. And now this. At least this new companion was an elf woman and not some heavily tattooed man the size of an Oliphaunt with a disagreeable temper.

Even with these comforting thoughts in mind, it occurred to Frodo that he might want to take up religion at this moment. Something about the woman just wasn't right. He peered closer at her. Oh, no, he thought, did I just see one of her eyeballs slide in the other direction? He looked over at the other eight companions to see how they were taking the news.

Gandalf was smiling blandly while he quietly scrutinized the newcomer's features. Aragorn's eyebrows were cocked politely in an expression of moderate surprise. Boromir's face was screwed up as he attempted to comprehend what was happening. As Frodo watched, Boromir mouthed, "Wait, what?" Legolas had a frozen grin on an unreadable expression. Gimli had a hand on his hip and was stroking his beard (dwarves always do in times of serious contemplation). None of the other hobbits were paying attention.

In honesty, Aragorn and Legolas were terrified. For they had heard whispers… dreadful whispers… of Aragorns and Legolases of alternate universes who were doomed to be forced to live and –goodness forbid—fall in love with one of Them. One of Those whose name goes unspoken but lurks in the darkest, most fearful depths of the heart, a wretched thing that threatens to consume all "hot" male characters.

"Now go away, the lot of you," said Elrond (bringing Legolas and Aragorn thankfully back to reality). "I've spent quite enough time explaining this crap, and Oprah is on. Shoo."

"You know," said one of the elves, "It's turned out that a lot of Oprah's medical advise isn't worth squat."

"I don't care! Just leave already!"

The Council scrambled away.