A/N: Warning! This is a blatant self-insertion. I've read some really good self-insertions and decided to give it a try for myself. The tone is intended to be serious, but with a few sprinkles of humor—but you don't have to take it seriously if you don't want to. Please review at your leisure—constructive criticism is preferred.

Double Warning! Expect the unexpected…/lifts eyebrow and grins mysteriously/

Disclaimer: I do not own anything about The Lord of the Rings. I do own myself and any other OC's that may show up later. There are real-life people mentioned here, but their names (including mine) have been changed for their privacy's sake.

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Summary: My friends back at school like to joke that there is a portal to Narnia in their shower. Nobody knew, however, that there was a portal to Middle-earth in mine. Experiment with Self-insert. CanonOC unrequited and OCxOC. Mostly movie-verse.

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What a sight I must have been!

I fell flat on my face, wrapped only in a purple towel and dripping wet. I had just stepped out of the shower—fallen out, actually—I got my foot caught on rim of the tub.

But it wasn't there anymore.

I sat up and looked around, searching in vain for my missing shower. When I decided that I couldn't find it from where I was, I got up and walked around, almost losing my towel in the process. I hastily wrapped it around my body again, keeping a firm hold on it. I was embarrassed enough already; I had come to terms with my less-than-perfect body, but was hardly willing to show it off to the whole world. The last thing I needed was to lose the only thing I had that passed as a garment.

"Where am I?" I whispered. A silly thought struck me. My friend back at school joked about having a portal to Narnia in his shower. Could it be true, except that the portal was in my shower? Could I be in Narnia? I felt stupid for even considering the possibility. People don't just randomly fall into alternate dimensions.

Pondering a more important question, however, left me a little rattled. How am I going to get back? I didn't know anything about wilderness survival tactics. I didn't even have any clothes. What am I going to do? I took a deep breath to quell the sudden onslaught of panic. With a fearful quiver, I looked around for anything that could be helpful.

The first thing I noticed about my new surroundings was the overabundance of trees. They looked old, some gnarled and knotted like an old man's arthritic joints, and some thick and hunched over with the weight of their branches. Large tree roots rippled all along the ground and around randomly-placed boulders, intertwining with each other. Branches seemed to crowd together, blocking most of the sunlight from passing through their dense curtain.

The smell of the place was also very distinct. Its musty dampness tickled my nose, giving me the urge to sneeze. I gently pinched my nose to make the urge go away, but I still sneezed about five seconds later, the kind of sneeze that travels a million miles per hour from your feet to your face. I staggered backward, tripping over a tree root and landing onto a moss-covered boulder.

"My sciatica's not gonna like that," I moaned. I picked myself up again and tried to dust off some of the dirt, but the stuff only clung to my wet legs and smeared when I tried to wipe it off. There was probably caked mud on my face as well. Fantastic. I'm cold, naked, wet, and dirty! Actually, the air wasn't really that cold. It was just…heavy.

A deep wooden groan thrummed through the air. My breath quickened, and my body froze. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled not fifty feet from where I was standing. I finally tore my feet away from the ground and scurried behind the base of a large tree.

"What do trees have to talk about, hmm?" said a voice nearby. It was gruff and gravelly with a heavy Scottish-like lilt. "Except the consistency of squirrel droppings."

I huddled farther behind the tree as three men emerged from a small grouping of trees close by. I hoped I had not been seen. Their faces looked vaguely familiar to me, but somehow I couldn't identify them.

The fairest was a tall and slender blonde man with a bow and quiver slung behind his back. He was dressed in forest colors—greens, browns, and a little gray. What struck me as particularly odd about him were the little pointed apexes on the tops of his ears—an elf, maybe? I was rather intimidated by the fact that he seemed unnaturally tense.

In stark contrast, one of them was short and stocky with bushy auburn hair that had been braided into his equally thick beard. He wore a heavy helmet decorated with overlapping gold designs, and he carried several mean-looking battle-axes on his person. He must have been the one I had heard speaking not ten seconds ago.

The final man was tall like the first, but not as slender, as if he had much bulkier muscle underneath his black tunics; his form seemed to exude regality and a sort of quiet dignity, commanding respect. His hair was dark and unkempt, accented with a few streaks of silver. It was the same color as mine; maybe that's why I decided that I liked him the most out of the three. He followed closely to the elf, speaking quietly and urgently in some language I didn't understand.

The elf's gaze suddenly jumped extremely close to my hiding place. I fancied his gaze passed over me, but he said nothing to alert the others to my presence. "The White Wizard approaches," he whispered. His voice was sweet and mellow, inflecting beautifully when pronouncing his consonants. I felt my heart twinge, accompanied by the sudden urge to glomp him. Why I had this compulsion, I have no idea, but it left me quite confused.

"Do not let him speak," the dark man said. "He will put a spell on us."

I heard the scrape of metal against its scabbard as the dark man partially withdrew his sword. The short man's leather gloves creaked as he tightened his grip on a pair axes with rounded blades. The elf discreetly knocked an arrow to his bowstring.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my towel and held my breath.

"We must be quick."

Just as the dark man drew his sword and turned to strike, a bright white light burst from between the trees. It was so bright that I swore it could have burned my retinas if I looked long enough, but one moment was one too many; a searing pain shot through my brain like a bullet. I instinctively snapped my hand to my face to cover my eyes with such force that I lost my balance and my towel. With a terrified yelp, I quickly righted myself and gripped my towel, sinking as far as I could go into hiding behind the tree.

Against my better judgment, I peeked around the other side of the tree. The three men had been disarmed and were now in the presence of a fourth—the White Wizard, presumably—who was shrouded in light so I could not see his face. I could see his staff, however; it was tall, slim, and perfectly cylindrical with an elegantly carved diamond-like structure as its crown.

I rubbed my eyes to try to ease the pain, but my vision began to blur. I blinked several times and held onto the rough bark of the tree for support should my vision fail completely. Who in the world could have made such a bright light? It almost seemed that this "White Wizard" had brought his own personal sun with him.

At length, he spoke, his voice deep and ominous, yet slightly amused, but I was so focused on the pain between my eyes that I only caught snippets of the following conversation—something about some missing hobbits.

Finally, the Wizard stepped forward, shifting his staff from one hand to the other, and the bright light receded from him. It was quite obvious why he was called the White Wizard, for indeed, he was clad in white, from the hair on his head to the soft boots on his feet. In appearance he seemed quite old, but in countenance age could not bind him.

He raised a bushy eyebrow, slightly bemused.

"It cannot be," the dark man whispered. His square jaw slackened, and his eyes widened in wonder.

The Elf knelt down on one knee in reverence. "Forgive me," he said meekly. "I mistook you for Saruman."

"I am Saruman," the Wizard replied, smiling. "Or rather, Saruman as he should have been."

A crease formed between my eyebrows. Why did this seem so familiar? I've been known to have terrible déjà vu, but this was ridiculous! This forest, these men, the Wizard—where have I seen this before?

The dark man stepped forward. "Gandalf," he said quietly, his eyebrows drawn together and a little smile pulling at his lips.

"Gandalf?" the Wizard replied. His eyes darted back and forth as if he was accessing some memory hidden deep within his mind. "Yes, that is what they used to call me," he said thoughtfully. "Gandalf the Grey—that was my name." He drew the corner of his mouth up in a smirk. "I am Gandalf the White."

Click.

I gasped and looked away. There was no way I was in Narnia. I pinched myself on the arm to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

I was in Middle-earth!

There's a portal to Middle-earth in my shower!

I laughed at the thought, and then clapped a hand over my mouth, afraid they would hear. I was especially self-conscious about meeting Gandalf wearing only a bath towel. What a wonderful first impression that would make!

Come to think of it, in middle school I had been so obsessed with Lord of the Rings that I prayed fervently that God would create a portal to let me go to Middle-earth. I had been genuinely disappointed when nothing happened, but in the back of my mind I had known it wouldn't work. I suppose God had now seen fit to grant me my wish—while I was in the shower.

No one ever said God didn't have a sense of humor.

I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that I hadn't seen Gandalf approach my hiding place. I jumped and yelped in surprise when I turned and found him kneeling beside me. He looked me up and down with a quirk in his heavy eyebrow, amusement flittering in his bright gray eyes. "Um, hi," I said awkwardly, berating myself for not saying something more profound. This was Gandalf after all.

"Hello, young lady," he replied. "It seems you have lost your way."