PREFACE
Boromir ran desperately through the halls of Rivendell. His eyes were wild, his face haggard, his breath ragged. He stopped for a moment and licked his dry lips, glancing here and there as though seeking for a route of escape. His cheeks were pale, and his nostrils flared like those of a hunted beast, filled with some irrational terror. Once more he dashed off, his footsteps echoing through the quiet house.
Suddenly he spied Aragorn, who was strolling peacefully in the garden, unaware of whatever force or creature had put such a spell of horror on Boromir's mind. Boromir ran to him and grasped him by the shoulders, looking back as though he feared pursuit, and whispering urgently.
"Aragorn! Aragorn, it's happening again! They're coming, they're coming, I can feel it."
Aragorn's puzzled expression changed to one of growing horror as the meaning of Boromir's words came home to him.
"Not…?"
"Yes. Them." Boromir's voice was filled with dread.
"But… are you sure?"
"I'm certain," he answered grimly, as despair began to take hold of him. "I can feel it beginning already. Can't you? No, I suppose it doesn't have the greatest effect on you. But I… I can feel my honor… seeping away. My courage and integrity… they're leaving me… There is no escape for me now. I'm… I'm becoming… evil…"
"No Boromir! Fight this! Pull yourself together man, and remember that you are a soldier of Gondor, the son of the Steward." For a moment, Boromir seemed close to tears.
"All… all I ever wanted… was to defend my people—my beloved people… and to die nobly… in the service of my city. Is… is that so much to ask? Why won't they grant me… that much? But it's too late now… the change is upon me…"
"Legolas!!" cried Aragorn, momentarily distracted from his friend's anguish. The Elf had climbed to the roof, and seemed ready to jump to his death. Boromir's head drooped.
"Don't try to stop him, Aragorn… he can feel it, just as I can. Let him escape unscathed…"
Behind Legolas, Glorfindel had also climbed to the roof, and he was approaching the desperate Elf quietly, clearly ready to pull him back from the brink.
"Legolas, what are you doing?" called Aragorn, trying to stall him to give Glorfindel time to put a stop to the madness.
"I can't bear it Aragorn," Legolas called back. "Not again. I can't bear coming to myself, here in Rivendell, and remembering all the horrors… The shame… the disgust… I can't go through it again."
"I know, Legolas—it's bad for all of us. But killing yourself is not the answer! No one blames you for the change that takes you! We all are affected by it…"
Glorfindel pounced from behind, dragging the distraught Legolas back form the edge of the roof. BR
Aragron heaved a sigh of relief.
Some hours later, when Legolas had been convinced not to kill himself, Elrond called for a meeting. Aragorn sat with Legolas, still wide-eyed and pale, next to him. Boromir stood nearby, his face now a mask of cold, haughty pride. Gandalf stood, clutching his staff. Gimli paced. Elrond gazed through the window. The four Hobbits sat in silence. Glorfindel stood off to the side. All of them stared bleakly before them, in silence. Gandalf glanced in Boromir's direction and then looked meaningfully at Elrond.
"It has already taken him," muttered the Wizard darkly. Elrond nodded his agreement.
"The rest of us will not long outlast him," the master of Rivendell said, and his voice was heavy with the knowledge of an approaching, immutable tragedy. He heard a gasp and whipped around.
Legolas had jumped to his feet and was looking in dismay at his hands. The others recoiled involuntarily in disgust as his skin became paler—almost to the point of transparency. His fingers lengthened and became more delicate and his eyes became unnaturally bright.
Legolas turned to look at Frodo, to see that he too had changed. Where moments before, a middle-aged, somewhat plump Hobbit had sat, a Hobbit-lad had now appeared. His hair had become coal-black and curly, his skin, too, had attained the color of alabaster, and his blue eyes had grown out of proportion to his face and now appeared to be liquid pools.
"They must be getting near," whispered Glorfindel, shuddering.
Suddenly Gimli, who had not yet stopped fidgeting, stood stock still. He bent over double, clutching his head between his hands, shaking. Then he straightened and looked around at the group.
"I'm short and unattractive!" he said. "Haha!"
Elrond turned away in repulsion.
"Gandalf!" he barked, and his voice was harsher than it had been before. "Is there nothing we can do to stop this?" Gandalf opened his mouth to reply and then stopped. He looked blankly at Elrond, closed his mouth, and frowned, a puzzled look crossing his face.
"I, uh… I don't know." Elrond looked at him, disbelievingly, his mouth hanging open.
"Gandalf… It—it has taken you, too? Has your wisdom left you?"
Gandalf furrowed his brow in thought.
"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I think so."
Everyone turned to look at Glorfindel as he uttered a low moan. Without becoming paler, as Legolas and Frodo had done, he was growing more and more transparent. He was slowly fading, evaporating, disappearing. When at last his fading voice had uttered its final lament and he had utterly vanished, Aragorn, who had suddenly become very scruffy, looked at Elrond. But the Elrond he had known was gone, and in his place stood a stern, cold, obstinate-looking Elf. Argagorn shuddered.
"They are coming…" he whispered to himself. "They are coming… the Mary Sues."
Boromir ran desperately through the halls of Rivendell. His eyes were wild, his face haggard, his breath ragged. He stopped for a moment and licked his dry lips, glancing here and there as though seeking for a route of escape. His cheeks were pale, and his nostrils flared like those of a hunted beast, filled with some irrational terror. Once more he dashed off, his footsteps echoing through the quiet house.
Suddenly he spied Aragorn, who was strolling peacefully in the garden, unaware of whatever force or creature had put such a spell of horror on Boromir's mind. Boromir ran to him and grasped him by the shoulders, looking back as though he feared pursuit, and whispering urgently.
"Aragorn! Aragorn, it's happening again! They're coming, they're coming, I can feel it."
Aragorn's puzzled expression changed to one of growing horror as the meaning of Boromir's words came home to him.
"Not…?"
"Yes. Them." Boromir's voice was filled with dread.
"But… are you sure?"
"I'm certain," he answered grimly, as despair began to take hold of him. "I can feel it beginning already. Can't you? No, I suppose it doesn't have the greatest effect on you. But I… I can feel my honor… seeping away. My courage and integrity… they're leaving me… There is no escape for me now. I'm… I'm becoming… evil…"
"No Boromir! Fight this! Pull yourself together man, and remember that you are a soldier of Gondor, the son of the Steward." For a moment, Boromir seemed close to tears.
"All… all I ever wanted… was to defend my people—my beloved people… and to die nobly… in the service of my city. Is… is that so much to ask? Why won't they grant me… that much? But it's too late now… the change is upon me…"
"Legolas!!" cried Aragorn, momentarily distracted from his friend's anguish. The Elf had climbed to the roof, and seemed ready to jump to his death. Boromir's head drooped.
"Don't try to stop him, Aragorn… he can feel it, just as I can. Let him escape unscathed…"
Behind Legolas, Glorfindel had also climbed to the roof, and he was approaching the desperate Elf quietly, clearly ready to pull him back from the brink.
"Legolas, what are you doing?" called Aragorn, trying to stall him to give Glorfindel time to put a stop to the madness.
"I can't bear it Aragorn," Legolas called back. "Not again. I can't bear coming to myself, here in Rivendell, and remembering all the horrors… The shame… the disgust… I can't go through it again."
"I know, Legolas—it's bad for all of us. But killing yourself is not the answer! No one blames you for the change that takes you! We all are affected by it…"
Glorfindel pounced from behind, dragging the distraught Legolas back form the edge of the roof. BR
Aragron heaved a sigh of relief.
Some hours later, when Legolas had been convinced not to kill himself, Elrond called for a meeting. Aragorn sat with Legolas, still wide-eyed and pale, next to him. Boromir stood nearby, his face now a mask of cold, haughty pride. Gandalf stood, clutching his staff. Gimli paced. Elrond gazed through the window. The four Hobbits sat in silence. Glorfindel stood off to the side. All of them stared bleakly before them, in silence. Gandalf glanced in Boromir's direction and then looked meaningfully at Elrond.
"It has already taken him," muttered the Wizard darkly. Elrond nodded his agreement.
"The rest of us will not long outlast him," the master of Rivendell said, and his voice was heavy with the knowledge of an approaching, immutable tragedy. He heard a gasp and whipped around.
Legolas had jumped to his feet and was looking in dismay at his hands. The others recoiled involuntarily in disgust as his skin became paler—almost to the point of transparency. His fingers lengthened and became more delicate and his eyes became unnaturally bright.
Legolas turned to look at Frodo, to see that he too had changed. Where moments before, a middle-aged, somewhat plump Hobbit had sat, a Hobbit-lad had now appeared. His hair had become coal-black and curly, his skin, too, had attained the color of alabaster, and his blue eyes had grown out of proportion to his face and now appeared to be liquid pools.
"They must be getting near," whispered Glorfindel, shuddering.
Suddenly Gimli, who had not yet stopped fidgeting, stood stock still. He bent over double, clutching his head between his hands, shaking. Then he straightened and looked around at the group.
"I'm short and unattractive!" he said. "Haha!"
Elrond turned away in repulsion.
"Gandalf!" he barked, and his voice was harsher than it had been before. "Is there nothing we can do to stop this?" Gandalf opened his mouth to reply and then stopped. He looked blankly at Elrond, closed his mouth, and frowned, a puzzled look crossing his face.
"I, uh… I don't know." Elrond looked at him, disbelievingly, his mouth hanging open.
"Gandalf… It—it has taken you, too? Has your wisdom left you?"
Gandalf furrowed his brow in thought.
"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I think so."
Everyone turned to look at Glorfindel as he uttered a low moan. Without becoming paler, as Legolas and Frodo had done, he was growing more and more transparent. He was slowly fading, evaporating, disappearing. When at last his fading voice had uttered its final lament and he had utterly vanished, Aragorn, who had suddenly become very scruffy, looked at Elrond. But the Elrond he had known was gone, and in his place stood a stern, cold, obstinate-looking Elf. Argagorn shuddered.
"They are coming…" he whispered to himself. "They are coming… the Mary Sues."