At some point in time, at some point on the surface of the Planet Earth, in a certain insignificant house located in the area of that point, in a room on the second floor of that house, in a chair

Well, you get the picture. In any case, there was a girl slouching in that chair, facing an ancient Macintosh Performa 475 with a 256 color monitor and System 7.6.1 running on it. She wasn't particularly beautiful (or at least she didn't think so, despite having been told so by some friends and a couple of ratfink jerks), except when she was feeling exceptionally pleased with herself; the only part of her that she thought was beautiful was her thick auburn hair, and she had just chopped a foot off of that. She did like her eyes and eyebrows, though, for being (the former) greeny-grey, a very romantic and sexy color, she thought, and (the latter) perfectly shaped without plucking. And she absolutely hated her braces, which were painful and made her look like she was in 7th grade if she opened her mouth.

Anyway, this girl (her name was Isis, because her hippie parents had thought it was a cool name) lived with her now-ex-hippie parents, and her little sister and brother. She fought with them a lot, but only about their going into her room without knocking, or about talking back, or things like that. She had her own computer, and her dad let her listen to her progressive rock music as loud as she wanted, because he liked it. She had her own room, too, and an A/C, andÉoh, yeah. Two feet of Lord of the Rings books, the soundtracks to all three movies, a poster of Legolas, a poster of Aragorn, a Sindarin course, a Quenya course, two LotR-based fanfictions on , and thirty-two LotR icons for the Macintosh. All in all, a pretty normal lifestyle for a 16-year-old rabid fangirl.

All of which was about to change—drastically.

At the moment, though, she was trying to write a fanfic. She was pouting a little, because the story wasn't behaving properly, and the characters weren't cooperating. She looked around a little, then took a swig from her water-bottle and put it down in disgust.

"Damned Boston tap water," she muttered. "Put it through a filter and it still tastes like crap." She leaned back in her chair. "I wish I could talk to somebody," she complained to the ceiling. "Somebody–" she stopped, as though embarassed at saying it to no one in particular. "somebody–someone from LotR," and she swung back abruptly to face the computer. "Not like that's ever going to happen." She snorted and started to type.

"Is she awake?"

"No, shut up."

"Can I wake her up?"

"No."

Silence.

"Merry?"

"What, Pippin?"

"I'm hungry."

"So'm I."

"Can we ask her where the kitchen is?"

"No. She's still asleep."

"Can I go and find the kitchen?"

Sigh "Yes, Pippin. Honestly, talk about havin' people of intelligence in the party."

"What, me?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just go and find the kitchen."

"All right."

Silence.

"I'm back, Merry!"

"SHHH!"

"Oops, sorry. I'm back. Look what I found! Ham, cheese, bacon, eggs, bread, butter, jam—"

"Pippin!"

"What? Don't yell at me, Merry, keep your voice down!"

"You completely raided their bloody pantry, didn't you?"

"No, of course not. All the food in thereÉthey must eat even more than we do."

"MmmÉ" Grunt

"What was that?"

"She's waking up!"

"Wait, Pippin, don't drop the food!"

"You hold it!"

"No, you! You brought it down—"

"Tha•s, go away, I'm trying to sleepÉ"

"Who's Tha•s?"

"Blimey if I know."

Grunt

"She's openin' her eyes!"

"Leave her alone, Pippin, you're actin' like you've never seen a girl before."

"'Course I have."

"Then let her sleep!"

"I'm not asleep anymore."

"Merry, her eyes are shut."

"Shut up, Pippin."

Isis cracked one eye open, then quickly closed it and rubbed her eyes hard. She opened the other eye. "What the hell—"

"Good mornin'," said the small figure sitting on the bed next to her. "I thought you'd never wake up."

"Shut up, Pippin," said the other small figure, who was sitting at the foot of the bed. "Let her wake up slow."

"No, no," Isis said, pulling herself up into a sitting position. "I'm fully awake. It's okay." She stared at the two. "Whoa. Maybe I'm not awake yet. Maybe I'm still dreaming."

Pippin looked at Merry. "Are we a dream?"

Merry shook his head. "Of course not."

"I didn't think so."

Isis leaned back against her pillows and continued staring. "How–how many more of you are there?" she asked.

"What, hobbits?"

"Don't be an ass, Pippin. She means of the Fellowship."

"Yeah. That's what I meant." Isis ran her fingers through her shoulder-length red hair.

"Well, let's see," Pippin said, thinking. "There's Boromir, he's upstairs on the sofa."

"Okay."

"And then there's Strider, on the parlor floor."

"It's a living room," Isis corrected.

"Right. The living room floor. And also Lord Glorfindel–he's upstairs in the kitchen, doing the dishes."

"Lord Glorfindel?"

"Yes, he's upstairs doing the dishes."

"Lord Glorfindel is what?"

"He's doing the dishes."

"He's what?"

"Merry, I think she's deaf."

"No, I'm not. I just can't believe my ears. He's doing what?!?"

"He's doing the dishes."

"Ah, okay," the girl said, settling back on her pillows with relief. "I thought you said he was doing the dishes."

"I did–"

"Shut up, Pippin," Merry and Isis chorused.

"All right," she said, putting her hands up in defeat. "Okay. Okay. I get it. I'm just hallucinating. I mean, why else would I be sitting here, arguing with Merry and Pippin, who just happen to be two of my favorite characters in LotR, about whether or not an Elf Lord is washing dishes in my kitchen? No. That's not right. I can't be hallucinating. That idea is so abnormal it's gotta be real. Okay. So this really is happening to me. No way. No. Way. NFW. This is so not happening to me right now. I'd better call Sasha. What time is it?"

Pippin looked at the clock on her desk. "Eight-thirty."

"She'll understand." She threw back the covers and started getting out of bed. "What?"

"Nice trousers," Pippin commented, staring at her legs.

"Pippin!" Merry said, also staring.

"What?" She looked down at her boxer shorts. "Oh my god." She jumped back in bed and threw the covers back over her legs. "Pippin," Isis said sweetly, "would you mind terribly if I asked you to go and get the cordless 'phone from my parents' room? Without being seen?"

Pippin looked at her quizzically. "'Phone?"

The girl groaned. "Never mind. Just get me those pants over on that shelf, will you?" As she struggled out of her pajama shorts and into her jeans under the covers, she continued talking. "It's a good thing–" tug "–you got here after–" tug "–my dad–" jerk "–left for work. Phew, that was a pain," she commented, throwing the covers off and standing up, towering over the hobbits at 5'5". "I don't know why I didn't just send you out of the room so I could get dressed." She opened the door of the room and stopped as a thought struck her. "Oh, crap. If my sister goes upstairs, she's going to find the guys—you'd better go up and bring 'em down. And y'all have to stay here, in this room. If a little girl comes in, you're all to hide, understood?"

Isis tiptoed out of her room, closed the door quietly, and tiptoed round the corner to her parents' room. Thank God my dad left for work early this morning, she thought. Who knows what he'd have done if he'd found half the Fellowship in my room at this hour

"Hi, m‹e," she said cheerily as she entered the bedroom, seeing that her mother was already awake and drinking coffee. Tha•s and Tycho, her sister and brother, were both still sleeping. "Oh thank God, they're asleep. Listen, mama," plopping onto the bed facing her mother, "I have a problem."

"Isis, it's too early for problems. Let me drink my coffee and then–"

"No, mam‹e, seriously, I need to talk to you before Tha•s wakes up."

Her mother sighed. "What is it?"

"Don't laugh."

"I won't."

"I have Merry and Pippin in my room."

"Who?"

Isis groaned. "Come on, m‹e. You know, Lord of the Rings? Hobbits? Obsession?"

"Oh. Well, it's a good thing you cleaned your room the other day."

"Motherrrr!"

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

"What do I do?"

"Offer them some coffee, maybe." Her mother took a sip of her own. "Or some breakfast, if they want it."

"Pippin had already raided the refridgerator by the time they woke me up."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. There's an entire carton of eggs sitting on my desk."

"Well, you tell them to put the food away now! No, no arguments." Her mother held up a hand. "Now."

"But you didn't let me finish," Isis objected.

"Why? Does it get worse?"

"Ohhh yeah."

"Isis, the suspense is killing me."

Isis giggled, then sobered up at the thought of what–or who–stood upstairs at the kitchen sink. "Well, Boromir's sleeping on the couch upstairs, and Aragorn is on the living room floor, and–" she paused, still not believing what she was about to say– "Glorfindel is washing the dishes."

"Who?"

"Yeah, I know. That's what I said when I heard. I said, Glorfindel is washing the dishes."

"Who's Glorfindel?"

Isis groaned again. "He's the Elf-lord who's rescues Frodo, and brings him back to Rivendell, instead of stupid Arwen." She wrinkled her nose. "I've told you this a zillion times, mama. Everytime I tell you about how hot Glorfindel is."

"So isn't it good that he's here? I mean, if you like him so much, you could go and tell him to stop washing your dishes."

"Motherrrr!"

"I'm sorry, Isis. That's how my mind works. I'm a mother."

"It's totally uncomfortable and awkward! What am I going to say to him? 'Uh, hi, I wrote a story once where I married you and we had two kids.'" They both laughed. "Seriously, m‹e, I actually only came in here to get the cordless. I need to call Sasha."

"So early? It's only 8:45."

"She'll understand. Thanks, ma." Isis grabbed the phone and dashed back to her room. "Okay," Isis announced as she entered. "I've got the 'phone, so now I can call Sasha and–oh. Whoa."

The room was extremely crowded; the two hobbits were sitting at the foot of her bed, reading The Hobbit and looking immensely pleased with themselves; a tall Man was sprawled on the bed as well, reading Isis's dog-eared copy of The Return of the King; another tall Man was sitting in Isis's chair, reading something on the computer; and an even taller, very handsome blond male was standing over her piano, examining it with his long fingers.

Isis just stood in the doorway and screamed.