The Disclaimer: I don't own any Tolkien characters or places.

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Two days after their departure from the Fellowship, the three travelers made camp along the mountains – Thrór, being the horse of a Sue, never grew weary but Boromir and Gimli were exhausted and insisted on stopping for a while. Neither of them was in the best of moods when they finally made camp as night fell.

"Why is it that every time a girl falls into Middle Earth or randomly appears out of nowhere to 'help' the Fellowship, Gimli and I become completely un-canonical?" growled Boromir to the air.

"It's because you're 'teh 3vil'," Thrór smirked from nearby, using the common "fangirlish" term.

Giving the horse a proud glare, Boromir retorted haughtily, "I'm not evil. I'm just a normal man." He unsheathed his sword and started to clean it angrily.

"Well, Tolkien hid vital information such as that in a nice mysterious thing called the book," Thrór commented. "And I don't think the Sue authors have ever even thought of this special item." And he was correct, of course. Sue authors usually have the reading skills of a kindergartener and can't even look up correct Middle Earth facts on the Internet, so they just make up a bunch of ludicrous stuff instead, whether it is about characters, setting, or gods. But doubtless the reader knows this already.

"But it is uncalled for!"

With a yawn that showed his huge and perfectly white teeth (for a horse, anyway), Thrór shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Boromir. The Sues just think you are bad because you get corrupted by the Ring in the end."

"Well someone with good intentions has to be corrupted by the Ring! One of the main reasons I am in the story is for Tolkien to show how the reader just how powerful the Ring really is."

"Sue authors don't understand Tolkien or interesting characterization."

"Will you two knock that off?!" asked Gimli, who was getting tired of the conversation. "This is pointless." The dwarf had ambled over to a fallen log nearby and was chopping firewood angrily

"Perhaps we should kill Legolas because they all come to Middle Earth to find love with him." Boromir was only half joking. "Then our problems would be over."

Scowling, Gimli muttered, "I don't know why they all like that elf so much anyway! What is wrong with a stout dwarf like me?" And he puffed out his chest in pride.

Thrór rolled his purple eyes. "You are too small and ugly for them, I suppose."

The axe stopped chopping as Gimli turned to face Thrór. "Doesn't character count for anything?" he inquired, already knowing the answer.

"No."

With a roar, Gimli cried, "I should have known – movie!Legolas has the personality of a log, but since they all think he is 'pretty' the Sue authors act out their own fantasies through original characters such as Vallawen in fan fiction such just so they can do Legolas, and Boromir and I get mangled because of it."

A strange gleam suddenly appeared in Boromir's eyes. "I say we stop them. We've been abused for the last time! It is time for us to take our revenge and rid Middle Earth of all the Sues residing here – well, at least in this story. You know as well as I that in about an hour another Sue author will get the 'original' idea to write a fan fiction piece where her original character falls in love with Legolas, and we will both be butchered all over again. But not this time! This will be the one story where we get revenge on the Sues!"

"Yay!" yelled the Tolkien fans.

Gimli laughed, saying, "How should we do it though? It will be hard to defeat the ever-perfect Vallawen, perhaps even impossible." He frowned at this last thought.

His silver tail swishing, Thrór gave Gimli an evil smile. "Nothing is impossible," he said. "But to lighten things up and to possibly give us some ideas, I say we play a little game that I like to call 'Pick the Spot in Hell.'"

The dwarf looked skeptical. "What do you mean 'Pick the Spot in Hell'? What is this 'hell'?"

"Never mind the particulars. According to Dante, hell is a rather nasty place where very bad people are punished for their wrongdoings. You see, the punishment fits the crime for all eternity there. For example, if a person flattered others too much during his life time, he gets to wallow in his own excrement for eternity. The deeper hell gets, the worse the crimes and punishments."

"I don't understand," said Boromir as he gave Thrór a look of irritation. "I have to pick where I'd go to be punished in this hell? That doesn't sound very entertaining."

"No, fool! You pick where Vallawen would go in hell!"

The Tolkien fans who had been skeptically observing the events of this story so far were delighted by this idea as well. "We wish to join in the fun," they informed Thrór. "We know much of Dante! Let us put the Sue in the deepest point in hell – or should we say, the Mouth of Hell?"

"That's not the point. You get to make up your own circle of hell appropriate for Mary Sues like Vallawen, not necessarily place the Sues in an already existing circle," Thrór explained. "You purists stay out of this. You'll get your chance for revenge."

Fuming, the purists backed off. The horse turned back to Gimli and Boromir, happily saying, "All right! Who wants to go first?"

"I will!" Gimli laughed. "I'd turn her into an orc and then throw her into lava where she would burn forever!"

Snorting, the horse rolled his eyes. "No, no, no. Come on – play it properly."

"And how do you play it properly then, Master Thrór?"

"I'll go first then to show you, Master Gimli." Shutting his eyes, the horse stood in deep meditation for a moment. Then in a burst of glee, his eyes snapped back open and he smiled. "You must think of a logical reason for why you'd put her in your made-up place in hell. You see, since Vallawen seems to know nothing of your Arda, I'd condemn her to eternal damnation in a classroom. She and the other Sues like her would have to read all of Tolkien's works over and over again until they get it right . . . then just as they achieve perfection of canon knowledge, their ignorance would come back, making them forget all they learned – and the process would start all over again! You see?"

Boromir thought a moment and then cried, "I've got it! Vallawen would be turned into a hideous, deformed monster – because she was so perfect in life – but she wouldn't realize it. She would still find herself to be the wonderful, amazing person she had been in life only the object of her lust - Legolas in this case - would find her terrible to look upon and reject her for all eternity because she got him so easily while alive."

"Hmm . . . like a stupid version of Frankenstein's monster," mused Thrór. "You got one, Gimli?"

With a sneaky gleam in his eyes, Gimli answered, "I do indeed. Vallawen would be turned into a fish and be forced to eat barnacles off of the hulls of ships for all eternity!"

"But why?"

"Only because the thought amuses me, hehehe! Don't glare at me like that, Thrór! It was a joke!" laughed the dwarf. "Here is the real one: Vallawen would be forced to spend eternity in a sad, dreary world where nothing goes according to plan. If she walks forwards, then she really goes backwards. When she tries to eat, she throws up, and so on. I choose this punishment because Vallawen has taken so much bizarre control over Middle Earth that she deserves to be in a world that she cannot manage."

"Interesting," said Boromir.

"Not bad," commented Thrór.

Then a long silence ensued. No one seemed to know what to say. Thinking about Vallawen and how perfect she was had cast darkness upon them all.

"But now what do we do?" asked Gimli finally. "We can't stop Vallawen by ourselves – she'll just sic our no longer canonical or friendly friends on us."

"I say we head for Minas Tirith where we can consult my father. He'll know what to do Boromir told the other two with an amused smile. "He is very wise man, no matter how irrational he looks in the movies."

Deciding that going to Denethor for advice was as good as anything, Gimli shrugged. "I will go along," he said, "but I'm getting some shut-eye right now." The dwarf pulled a blanket out of his pack and threw it on the ground.

"I'm going to find some hausselfeid," Thrór informed them.

"What in the name of the Valar is 'hausselfeid?'" asked Boromir. That was the stupidest word he had ever heard.

"Hausselfeid is a stupid make-believe plant with a Norse sounding name that the author made up to sound smart," explained the horse with a sneaky smile. "You wouldn't believe some of the make believe crap these Sues bring with them into Middle Earth. Vallawen brought hausselfeild and other Norse things, real things from Norse mythology and not-so real things like this plant for example. I'll come back tomorrow but if you need me right away for some emergency before then, just call and I will hear." And using his incredible speed, the strangely colored horse galloped away far from the mountain's base to search for suitable pasture.

"Thrór can be a bit annoying," decided Gimli as he laid his axe on the ground and bedded down for the night.

A shrugging Boromir replied, "At least he's friendly."

"Good point. Remember the Chinese dragon that the Sue from the imaginary kingdom of Lockwood rode?"

"Of course I do. One doesn't easily forget a creature that follows him around everywhere, even when he is trying to relieve himself," scowled the son of Denethor. "The centaur was the worst though. Remember him? How that evil Sue who fell into Middle Earth could ride that beast is beyond me."

"Why do they bring such creatures into Middle Earth? We have too many bad ones to deal with already. Wargs, dragons, orcs, Legolas . . ." finished the dwarf with a grin.

"I know not. They just don't know any better, I suppose."

Suddenly, as if things weren't stupid enough in this story, a terrible ball of light appeared right in front of them, forcing Gimli and Boromir to shield their eyes as beams, the likes of which had never been seen on Middle Earth for at least two Ages, radiated from the golden center. But upon closer inspection, the golden center reviled the delicate form of a woman that seemed to emerge from the very light.

Shaking with rage, Gimli cried, "It's a Sue!" His axe raised, he stood his ground.

Boromir groaned and put a hand to his head. "Not another one!"

It was then that the voice soared out from the center of the light, saying, "Do not fear! I come as aid!"

"I don't care who you are! You nearly blinded us with your 'spectacular' entrance! Dull those lights before you say anything else!" threatened Gimli.

The lights vanished, leaving the woman out in the open. Actually she was no woman – she was an elf. But not just any old elf – no, this one was the most beautiful of them all. Yes, the most beautiful, meaning that none of you Sue authors can make your Sue the most gorgeous creature to ever walk on Middle Earth because Tolkien gave Lúthien Tinúviel that honor. Now back to the story.

"Is that better, Gimli?" the lady asked sourly, for she had rather liked the lights.

Gimli stared at her. "How did you know my name?"

Instead of answering, she simply gave the Man and the dwarf a skeptical look. When she finally spoke, her voice was ideal but her tone was less than thrilled.

"I am Lúthien Tinúviel. The Great Ilúvatar sends me to aid you in your mission to kill off the Sues of this story, for I am rather like a Sue myself, but unlike them I am one hundred percent canonical. Yet I would rather not be here, for I had my fill of Middle Earth all those years ago, and Mandos wouldn't let Beren come with me," she finished with a frown.

"Don't be angry with us!" said Boromir. "We didn't choose to be the two characters that the Sue writers don't understand."

Softening a little, Lúthien sighed. "I do not mean to be cross. I will do all I can to help you destroy these Sues, but we must be off to Minas Tirith immediately, if that is where you wish to go," she said. "Call back your magical horse friend so we can be on our way."

"First I have a question to ask, Lúthien Tinúviel," Gimli said. "Forgive me if I am prying but why are you so irritated? I would have never expected you to be so . . . difficult!"

With a laugh, the elf princess explained. "No one is perfect. Not even me. And if I had my way right now I'd be with Beren instead of back in this dirty place called Middle-earth; sometimes one must take duties upon herself that she doesn't particularly want to do but she accepts them, just not always with a song in her heart. Now come on!"

"THRÓR!!" yelled Boromir as loudly as he could, hoping that the stupid horse would hear. The echo bounced off the base of the mountains, and in seconds the ridiculously colored magical horse with purple eyes came running down the path as lightly as the wind.

"What? What'd I miss? I was only gone for like two seconds! I didn't get to eat any hausselfeid! This had better be good!" Thrór practically screeched. If there was one thing that he couldn't stand it was being interrupted when he was engaged in foraging activities.

"Sorry Thrór, but we must leave."

"WHY?"

Lúthien stepped forward. "We must leave right now so we'll have plenty of time to make a plan before Vallawen and the others reach Gondor. I'm Lúthien by the way, and I was sent by Ilúvatar to aid you boys."

"Hmm . . . so I take it that this Ilúvatar does actually exist?" Thrór said almost sardonically, and he sniffed Lúthien's clothes and arms.

Haughtily the elf placed her hands on her hips and answered, "He does. If my presence is not proof of his existence then I don't know what is." But she didn't stop the horse from smelling her.

"All right, get on my back," Thrór started to offer her his services as a mount, but she just gave him a gently stroke on the neck, saying, "Let Boromir and Gimli ride you. I've brought my own ride." And she whistled and cried, "Huan!!"

The huge wolfhound appeared from around a rock where he had apparently been hiding and trotted over to Lúthien, happy to see her again. Knowing that his mistress needed him once more, Huan crouched down and allowed her to climb onto his back.

Meanwhile Boromir had been studying Vallawen's riding gear which Thrór had carried since they left Moria. Her saddle was made of pure silver as would be expected, and a pad of the whitest fleece was the only thing that separated the heavy metal from Thrór's back. Not that the horse cared – being a magical he could carry almost anything without feeling burdened. His bridle and reins were also pure silver and decorated with intricate designs. Never before had such tack been wrought in Middle Earth. Not even Fëanor himself could have –

"Well, that's got to go!" Before the author could finish telling the reader about just how special and glorious the Sue's riding tack was, Boromir had loosened the cinch and carelessly thrown Vallawen's fantastic saddle on the ground, and after a few tries he had swung himself up onto the horse's bare back.

Glowering, Gimli asked, "Are you skilled at bareback riding, Boromir?"

"Not particularly, but –"

"But nothing! I will not ride bareback!"

"Gimli, get on!" Boromir lifted the unsuspecting dwarf onto Thrór's back before mounting himself. "We don't have time for this!"

Grumbling and angry at the Man for making him mount, Glóin's son started to intentionally slide off the horse before changing his mind. "I do not like this one bit. You'd better not fall off," he informed Boromir uncomfortably. "And if you do, try not to land on me too hard."

"Will you two hurry up?" Lúthien asked with an impatient air. Once the others were on the horse, she and Huan started off at a quick pace.

Taking hold of the reins, Boromir signaled for Thrór to follow them, but the horse had his head down and was foraging once again. He delicately nibbled at a thin blade of grass, oblivious to what was going on.

"Thrór!"

"Why are you putting so much pressure on my sides?" The horse's head swung up, and he swished his purple tail in irritation.

Scowling as though he had expected as much, the Warden of the White Tower explained, "You are supposed to go when I put pressure on your sides. All horses do this. How did Vallawen signal for you to go?"

Thrór thought a moment. "I don't know . . . I just always knew when she wanted to go." Seeing Huan and Lúthien waiting several meters away, the horse started after them, his gait smoother than that of a mearas. But he was not happy. Far from it. "I am sorry I do not know how to respond to a normal rider," he lamented to Boromir and Gimli as he loped along. "Oh, what I would give to be a real horse!"

Gimli rolled his eyes. "You are a real horse – well, perhaps not quite, but I'm sure you can learn how to be one," he finished, trying to comfort the animal.

A glimmer of hope spread through Thrór's eyes, even though the riders could not see it. "You think I can?"

"Yes I do," said Gimli impatiently. "But you'd better learn how to obey leg commands if you want to become one. Let us go right away!"

Thus they started off, traveling at a phenomenal speed as the wolfhound and former Sue-horse were swifter than normal animals. In an incredible three days they reached the Gap of Rohan without incident and headed off into the West Emnet. It was around this time that odd things began to occur . . .