Hi! I'm Dangereuse-Penguin, and if you're looking for the kissing right off the bat, go away. Pairings are a secret.

Otherwise, please read on. I think this story is different, but if you've read something like this before, I swear to god, I haven't.

Disclaimer: I just bought The Two Towers extended edition, but that doesn't mean I have the rights to it.

XxXxX

Not that I want to sound ungrateful, but I never asked for this. I didn't want it. So why did I get it? I was happy, or happy enough, at any rate. I had ambitions, and dreams, and things that I will never be able to do here.

Not to mention, there's a whole army here of girls like me.

Wow.

I apologize; I'm giving you the end before I'm giving you the beginning.

So let me start from the start.

My name is Peyton Thatcher, but most people called me Thatch. They used to call my dad Thatch when he was a high school football star. I'm not into football, but it's a nickname I'm proud to have.

I'm tall, about five eight or nine. I am the result of a flag captain/football player marriage, so I am fairly good looking, although I have heard some people say the prettiest couples make the ugliest babies. Exception or normality, that isn't the point; I just happen to look decent most of the time.

My hair's brown, so are my eyes. My skin is fairly tan, but I'm entirely northern European, so it's not an ethnic thing, its just melanin. Everybody says, or said, rather, that I look just like my dad's sister. Honestly? I don't see the resemblance, but we do act and think alike. Or did. Whatever.

"Like, I'm sorry for, like, interrupting you or whatever, but Yoyo told me that you wear size eight jeans, and I was, you know, wondering if I could, um, borrow them?" Ah, Yolanda, alias Yoyo, one of my fellow fall victims. I'll elaborate more on that later, but let's just say, in the Sue Barracks, as I call them, if you want to know something, you ask Yoyo. She knows. I have a sneaking suspicion she was the first, but I can't be sure.

"No, you can't have my jeans, because then I'll have no pants, and I'm pretty sure they're not into that whole nudist thing here," I replied flatly to whoever it was Yoyo sent. She made some cutesy-angry little noise and left. I went back to my writing.

Anyway, one day, when I was fifteen, I went to sleep in my bed, and then when I woke up, I was in the middle of some forest.

Yeah, I know. I totally spazzed. I was screaming, and crying, and all that jazz. Then these tall, brown-haired guys led by a really cute blonde guy who looked exactly like Orlando Bloom as Legolas picked me up and deposited me in the Sue Barracks-that's where I am now, five years later. See, the thing is, that guy? He was Legolas. Like, the real one. And all those Mary Sues you hear of on the Internet, where the girl falls into Middle Earth? As it turns out, they all happen, but all at once. There's got to be at least five hundred of us here in the Barracks, all given jobs like scullery maid or field worker or something like that, and when we're paid, our pay goes to the Barrack Warden, who is a guy named Findecáno. Apparently from him, we assume our wages go back to Thranduil (Yeah, this is Mirkwood,) to pay for our food and lodging and other needs. We work these outrageous hours (seriously, like Industrial Revolution hours) and the food is good, and the beds are nice, but I want to know when my debt to Mirkwood will be paid off. The oldest of us are in their twenties, and the youngest are twelve, all girls, and none of us speak Sindarin, or Quenya, or Tengwar, or Westron, or Dwarvish, or any of the languages here. We speak many of the languages from Earth, but none of Middle Earth. Generally, we separate into groups based on native tongues, and those who are bilingual act as mediators between us. But none of us can truly effectively communicate with the elves here. We have learned the necessary words to do our jobs, but past that? Nothing.

I don't think that what is happening here is right. I have slaved away in the kitchens here for five years, and still, my debt is unpaid? Something is not right, and I intend to fix it, starting now. I am certain that there are some Sues in Rivendell and Lothlorien, and if I could just contact them, and find out about their situations…

It can't be as bad as it is here, because it is bad. We are not treated as long lost princesses. We are treated as newly found slave labor. The only times I have ever seen Legolas since when he brought me here, to the Barracks, is when he comes to the kitchens to beg food, and even then, if I look at him for too long, I am scolded by the head cook after he leaves. I had thought elves to be compassionate, but apparently that compassion does not extend to humans who are not of this world.

As I said, this is not right. It is dead wrong, and it will not stand.

I folded the paper and put it in the small cubbyhole with my name on it next to my cot. That is what we have here, hundreds of cots in long, open buildings. Then, there are two halls where we eat. Findekáno has a small office-type building here too. We are separated from the rest of Elvish society, probably because we are second-class citizens.

"Good night, Hannah," I whispered to the girl in the cot next to mind. She is Hannah Klein, and she works in the fields. I envy her; she gets to be outside all day. The kitchen is stifling and hot, and there is only one window.

I blew out my candle and went to sleep for the night.

Daybreak came far too early, as it usually does here. I changed into my work clothes in the open room, like everybody else. I wore a plain brown skirt and a white shirt with an apron, and tied my hair back, first in a ponytail and then a handkerchief. I went to breakfast. It was lembas, as breakfast tended to be, and water. I didn't care; lembas is good. I have no idea what Sam was complaining about in Return of the King.

I ate with Gina, who was a German bilingual, as well as a worker in the laundry. I tried to eat with everybody, but bilinguals most of all, because then I could figure out what was going on throughout the entire Barracks, not just the English speakers.

Apparently, some of the German speakers were having some of my same concerns, but didn't want to act on them. Why bite the hand that feeds, clothes, lodges, and exploits them? They were just the minority, however, which is what I found with most of the language groups. The majority did not think anything was wrong. I could understand, I guess, I mean, this was paradise to most of these girls, and they didn't want to believe it was less than that.

That was all I had time to gather before I had to go report for kitchen duty. Us Sues? We don't get days off, and if we're late, we're screwed.

So I went, and Larien, my superior, assigned me to make bread all day. Yuck. And to think, I used to like cooking. But all day bread making is like sentencing somebody to death by mind-numbing boredom.

However, it's not like I was about to argue. Argue? With Larien? Yeah, how about I just volunteer myself to be a floor-scrubber?

I got to work. Making bread was pretty much second nature to me now. After five years, I didn't even need to measure. At lunch, I got a half-hour break. I ran back to the Sue Barracks and caught a really quick lunch with Gabriela, a Spanish bilingual. News from the Hispanic front was the same as with the German speakers.

As I was running back to the kitchens, with maybe three minutes to spare, I was held up by the Prince's homecoming from the border patrol-he had been gone for maybe three weeks, and there was practically a parade. We met eyes for a second through the crowd, and I glared at him. He and his father are the cause of this Sue exploitation. He is the enemy, no matter how gorgeous he is.

I slid back into the kitchens maybe ten seconds late, earning myself a patented Larien Glare®. (A/N: I realize that the "R" symbol should actually be a trademark symbol, but I couldn't find it, so use your imagination.) I quickly removed my loaves of bread from the oven as I thought of how I could possibly get to the Lorien or Rivendell Sues. My preoccupation got me a lovely blister-burn, which I tried very hard to ignore. Larien does not take excuses, especially from Sues like myself.

By the time the workday had ended, it was dark and cold as I walked back to the Barracks, but I knew how I could write the other Sues in Middle Earth.

I would need to call in a favor with Yoyo.

And while I was at it, I would have to ask her for some burn cream. My hand hurt like a bitch.

XxXxX

Okay, so the first chapter is pretty short, but I want to know if people will actually like this before I go and write this huge thing. It will be huge, by the way. This is so the best idea I've ever had. Please review and tell me what you thought!

Mucho love,

D-P