The coast of New Zealand is rugged, haunting, beautiful, and houses a bird that (for whatever reason) someone decided to name a fruit after. It is also the home of the prestigious Middle Earth Philharmonic; the most elite orchestra in the world.
Every year, the MEP (or 'pretentious jerk' as their more critical opposition liked to call them) held a competition known as The One Ring Championship with the winning orchestra playing as the MEP's opening act for the next year. And every year the dreaded Mordorchestra would win.
The Mordorchestra was widely disliked, but also widely feared for their renowned use of foul play to achieve their ends.
For many years, the Mordorchestra remained undefeated. Then there came another ensemble; a fellowship of treble, tenor and bass clef that would finally put an end to the corruption of the One Ring Championship.
Ah, crap. Getting ahead of the story.
Our story actually begins quite a distance from the MEP, in a hole (in the wall apartment) where lived the young Frodo Baggins.
Frodo and his roommate, Sam Gamgee, often found themselves regretting their chosen profession. Strings playing, while artistically wholesome, was unfortunately not an altogether successful career. The two had been auditioning for local orchestras for some time and so far they remained jobless.
Jobless, that is, until Gandalf T. Grey himself walked into their little apartment and offered them both a position in his new ensemble.
Gandalf Theodore Grey, esteemed professor at the Istari School of Music, and long-time friend of Frodo's uncle Bilbo Baggins, was without a doubt one of the most gifted conductors in New Zealand. Obviously, Sam and Frodo accepted.
...
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Mister Frodo?"
The question, asked by Sam, came in response to the sight of the building where their first rehearsal was to take place. Gandalf, it seemed, had managed to talk the famous agent Elrond Halfelven into letting him use Rivendell studios.
"Come on, Sam. We'll be late," said Frodo, tugging at his friend's arm. Reluctantly, Sam trailed after Frodo.
Once inside, even Frodo had to stop and take in his surroundings. Truly, the lobby of Rivendell was a masterpiece. With it's vaulted ceilings, intricate wall hangings and carved wooden floor, it could make even the most hardened critic of the arts weep.
Coming back to the present, Frodo took Sam's hand again and pulled him over to the sign with Gandalf's name on it. He glanced into the unprepossessing room and, shrugging, entered.
There were six people already inside. Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took Frodo already knew from his hometown, Hobbiton (weird name, but a nice place). The rest were strangers. A tall, poised man with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail was currently tuning his violin. A scruffy, redheaded fellow was rosining his bow. A broad-shouldered violist was arguing with a, frankly, intimidating looking guy about something or other. Not a particularly comprehensive group, Frodo had to admit, but it could've been worse.
Before too long, Gandalf arrived and handed out the piece they would be playing.
Generally, when a group has been together a while, there is a pause before the beginning of any song. The metaphorical long, dark tea time of the soul takes hold and there is a kind of breath and retrospection within oneself that defines and shapes any musician.
If the group has just met, that so doesn't happen.
Not even close.
Not even a teeny tiny bit.
In this instance, Frodo was wondering if he'd left the stove on. Sam knew he'd turned the stove off and was wondering if Mister Frodo was concerned about said stove. The redheaded cellist, named Gimli, was wondering how Blondie, known as Legolas, had such luscious hair. He also wanted his number, but he wasn't going to admit that to himself. Legolas, for his part, was wondering why the grumpy looking (and admittedly quite handsome) cellist was glaring at him so intensely. Aragorn, the intimidating fellow, was trying to think of what to wear for his date that evening. Boromir (big shoulder guy) was actively trying and failing to concentrate.
Merry and Pippin were drawing dicks on their sheet music.
So when the opening notes began, they were lovely of course (one does not simply make it into an orchestra conducted by Gandalf T. Grey without some measure of ability) but sadly lacking in anything else. Bluntly put, the music was bereft of, well, musicality. Naturally, he called for a halt. With the grandfatherly gaze for which he was known, he looked down at his new recruits and sighed inwardly.
'I need them to bond,' Gandalf thought to himself, 'I also need to clean the kitchen. I wonder if I'll need to go grocery shopping later...'
Alright, so maybe the players weren't the only scatterbrained people in the room.
Concentration problems aside, Gandalf brought up a good point. How was his ensemble to work as an ensemble if there wasn't that, er, ensemble-y feeling?
"Put down your instruments," said Gandalf, with infinite majesty and calm. The group complied. Briskly, Gandalf motioned for them to join him at the opposite end of the room. Hesitantly, they again complied. Once everyone had joined him, Gandalf proposed his decided course of action.
"Since," he said, "you are mostly unfamiliar with one another, we shall make the best of things and get to know each other."
Trust falls, it seemed, were the first order of business. Mindful of varying sizes, it was generally agreed that neither Sam, Frodo, Merry and Pippin should be paired with anyone but themselves. Naturally, this left Legolas with Gimli and an extremely disgruntled Aragorn and Boromir together. The latter usually got on quite well but were especially miffed with each other that particular day.
The exercise, unfortunately, was one in futility.
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO FALL, NOT BLOODY WELL FLOAT DOWN," bellowed the much less graceful Gimli at his elegant partner.
"Well, it's hardly my fault that you fall like a brick," Legolas snapped.
Next to them, Boromir and Aragorn had many a bruise from where the other had spitefully missed catching them. From his current position on the ground Boromir yelled something at Aragorn about lawsuits and rightful ownership. In return, Aragorn aimed a nice, sharp kick to his ribs.
The shorter members of the orchestra had long since stopped falling into one another's arms in favour of watching the antics of the others. Gandalf, it seemed, was becoming more and more amused.
There was a sudden silence. Those arguing suddenly remembered their manners and separated from each other. Shamefacedly, they got up and brushed dirt (both real and imagined) from their clothes.
"Now," Gandalf chuckled, "are you quite ready to continue?"
Thus was the Fellowship of the Strings formed. It's mission: defeat the evil Mordorchestra and win the One Ring Championship for the good of the world.
"WHY IS YOUR HAIR SO DAMN STRAIGHT?"
It was going to be a long process.
Author's Note: This is simultaneously my first Lord of the Rings fan fiction and my first "serious" story that I've attempted in Chuck only knows how long. Please bear with me.