Title: Beautiful Girl, You're a Disease
Author: Yugure
Genre: Humor/Parody
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Lord of the Rings characters or anything in (and including) Middle Earth. They belong to Tolkien and people with more money than me. I don't own Mary Sue, either. I think she's public domain. I also borrowed/altered a line from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream," but he's dead so I figure he doesn't really care. The title is based on the song "Disease" by Matchbox 20.
Notes: This is my first foray in writing LotR fanfiction. I'm really not sure how this is going to turn out. Hopefully it'll be funny, at least worth a laugh or three. Beware blatant Mary-Sueism (although not a personal Mary Sue). It's possible that this has been done before (more than likely) and written better as well. I apologize in advance. I'm sure I'll piss off a lot of Tolkien purists out there, too, but sod off, I'm sure Tolkien would appreciate a sense of humor… Beware of out-of-character characterizations (mostly done for a humorous effect).
For starters, it wasn't a very nice day.
Rain pounded the land and seemed as though it would never relent. Brooks flooded, making swampy marshes of previously dry ground. Trees sagged and shivered with the gale blowing from the north. Not a speck of blue was visible in the blanket of porridge-gray clouds that rolled across the sky.
Dissension threatened the Fellowship, and they had barely even begun their travels. The group hadn't had anything to eat for quite some time (read: a couple hours), and Pippin and Merry were loudly asserting this point. Sam worriedly fretted over Frodo, who was ready to wring Sam's neck in spite of their close friendship if Sam didn't quit his mollycoddling. Legolas, usually quiet and affable, had grown hostile. The terrible weather was wreaking much havoc on his beautiful hair. Well, he thought as he glanced at Aragorn and Boromir, both who were sporting rugged roadkill hairstyles; at least I still look better than anyone else…
Aragorn was well aware of his less than aesthetically pleasing 'do and state of dress. Really, though, what could be done? Dropkick that smug elf, for one thing, Aragorn though darkly. He could tell by the way Legolas was surveying the group that the elf prince was mentally assessing the stages of putrefaction of everyone else. Aragorn couldn't really blame him, though. If he looked half as good as Legolas did, even considering Legolas's equally bedraggled "wet cat" look, he would be damned pleased.
"Och!" Gimli exclaimed from somewhere near the back of the group. A small thud followed shortly after. Everyone turned to stare at the dwarf sprawled on the ground. He glared in return, indignant, and pointed at a root protruding from the ground. "Bloody tree tripped me!"
"I'm sure it didn't," Legolas replied calmly, extending his hand to help his fallen comrade. Gimli ignored the proffered hand and helped himself up. Legolas gave the dwarf the Evil Eye, thought better of it, and switched to righteous snobbery. With a small sniff and tilting of the chin, Legolas spun on his heel and began to walk away.
"Bloody snooty elves…" Gimli muttered under his breath.
All would have been okay if it wasn't for Legolas's acute hearing.
"Perhaps if you weren't so stumpy and ham-fisted you wouldn't have this sort of trouble," Legolas retorted, turning back to glare at the dwarf.
"Keep your thoughts to yourself, you painted maypole!"
"Gimli, Legolas, stop your bickering," Aragorn commanded, though the lingering day and ceaseless drudgery of enduring it had worn his voice to a mere whine. The irate dwarf and elf ignored their "leader" and continued to volley insults back and forth.
"I though' elves were s'ppose' to be 'above' all that," Pippin none-too-wisely thought out loud. Merry twitched and sidled away from his fellow hobbit in the off chance that Legolas decided to refocus his wrath.
"Not when it comes to dwarves, it seems," Boromir muttered, secretly enjoying the verbal melee.
"We're just all in a bad mood," Frodo generalized. "It must be the weather."
"It's no' the weather," Pippin replied. "What does the weather have to do with anythin'?"
"I'm just saying that sometimes bad conditions affect the way people think-"
"And I'm no' in a bad mood. I'm just really, really hungry. We haven't had anythin' to eat in forever."
"We're not stopping now. We need to find shelter before the oncoming storm breaks." Aragorn attempted to intervene but only made matters worse. Pippin glanced at the horizon where angry black clouds gathered.
"We have a long time before tha' happens!" he exclaimed. "Why are you always makin' us hurry? We're hobbits, not bloody men! I've missed both breakfasts, elevensies, and luncheon! I want food, now, or I'm no' movin'!" To emphasize this point, Pippin dug his feet into the ground and crossed his arms.
"Pippin, don't be stupid," Merry snapped.
"I'm no' bein' stupid! You're hungry too, I know it!"
"All you hobbits are the same…"
"Don't
start with me, Boromir!"
"Guys, please, don't argue…"
Frodo's polite pleas were lost in the sudden frenzy of squabbling.
"I'm sick and tired of listening to you whine-"
"- can't go ten paces without you begging for food-"
"- never stops, never rests, we're no' bloody horses, either-"
"Is this upsetting you, Mr. Frodo? Maybe-"
"- how low am I, you painted maypole? Speak! How low am I?!"
"For goodness' sake, Sam, knock it off!"
"-and I'm hungry-"
"-you're all insane-"
"Excuse me?"
Nobody noticed the quiet, melodious interjection. Not even Frodo, who's last nerve had been shot and he had given up on being polite.
"-sod off-"
"ExCUSE ME?" the quiet voice grew a little louder, a little more urgent.
"-stupid git-"
"AAAAAAHEM!"
This time everyone froze. All eyes turned to look at the figure kneeling on a nest of moss and fallen leaves. Whatever the Fellowship had been expecting was not what they found.
Overhead, the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine fell to the earth, turning everything a hazy gold. The figure was a young woman, probably no more than twenty years of age. Blonde hair, the color of corn silk in the morning sun, fell in waves and surrounded a heart-shaped face. Pale, flawless skin glistened like porcelain. Naturally pink lips, the color of spring roses, curved into a beaming smile that revealed a perfect set of white teeth. Bright, lively blue eyes peeked out from underneath a cascade of soft blonde hair.
She was, in a word, perfect.
She was also, in four words, an anomaly of nature.
"I seem to have fallen and sprained my ankle, and because I am weak and delicate, I cannot walk," she spoke, and it seemed as though the heavens opened up and a chorus of angels provided her voice.
Nobody else spoke. Nobody dared to move. At the moment, the general consensus of the Fellowship was:
What the hell…?
"She wasn't there a moment ago… was she?" Frodo whispered.
"Nope," Merry confirmed.
"Then where did she come from?"
Aragorn stepped forward, assuming leadership once again.
"Greetings, my lady, what brings you to the middle of this forest without an escort?"
"I do not know, kind sir. 'Tis most strange, indeed. I know nothing of my past. I cannot even remember why it is that I am out here. But as I have said, I fell and I think I sprained my ankle."
"And your name, good lady?"
"Mareigh Sue, my lord."
Inexplicably, a collective shiver moved through the Fellowship.
"And you say your ankle is broken…"
"Sprained."
"Whatever."
"Yes, my lord."
"You may call me Strider."
Aragorn turned to look at the rest of the Fellowship. Legolas was staring in abject horror at Mareigh Sue, the hobbits looked completely baffled, Gimli and Gandalf seemed unaffected, and Boromir was looking at Mareigh Sue's suspiciously perfect and slender foot.
"Any ideas?" Aragorn questioned, beckoning the Fellowship to huddle for a quick conference.
"I doubt her ankle is really broken," Boromir contributed.
"Sprained!" came the delicate voice from outside their circle.
"Whatever. As far as I can see it's neither swollen nor discolored."
"It's not right for a young lady to be out all alone in the wilderness…" Gimli pointed out.
"What if she really is hurt? We can't just leave her here," Frodo said.
"We can't take her with us," Aragorn countered. He glanced at Legolas, who seemed to be having difficulty breathing. "Legolas, are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm quite alright," he replied. On the contrary, he looked terribly distressed. Aragorn opened his mouth to question further, but finally decided to ignore the moody elf.
"Gandalf, you've been awfully quiet lately…"
"I find it amusing to listen to the petty arguments that have transpired in the last several hours. But that is neither here nor there. As for the young lady, we really don't have much of a choice. Frodo is right, we cannot just leave her."
"She'll be a burden," Boromir argued. "If she's hurt, we will be twice as slow. Even if she is not, she's still just a woman. And by the looks of it, one that hasn't much experience in the ways of traveling."
"Getting the Ring to Mordor is a rather important task, is it not?"
"Frodo? What do you think?"
In spite of all appearances, Frodo hated making decisions like that. Could they really just leave a defenseless lady out here alone? True, they were on a mission to save the world, and they couldn't just stop for any one person. Sacrificing one for the benefit of many: the age-old dilemma. But what right did they have to throw away someone else's life?
Frodo ignored the voice in his mind that said they should get the hell away from there and leave the girl to her own devices and said: "We'll take her with us, and leave her at the next village or caravan we come across."
Their fates sealed, the Fellowship turned back to their uninvited guest. Upon learning of her (temporary) acceptance into the group, Mareigh Sue leapt to her feet in joy, promptly collapsed on her hurt ankle, and laughed like the sound of tinkling bells. After much eye rolling and shuffling about, Mareigh Sue was finally positioned on Bill the pony's back. Her ankle was quickly field-dressed with whatever happened to be lying around.
"You know, I just love animals, and animals love me, too. I guess it's because I have such a wonderful personality. Animals can sense that, you know. They instinctually want to be around nice people…"
Sam, who was the lucky caretaker of Bill until they met Mareigh Sue, soon found it very difficult to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. Mareigh Sue continued to blather on about anything and everything, and it was giving Sam a rather painful headache. However, since he was generally a nice hobbit by nature, he decided to endure it in silence. If worse came to worse, he'd make Pippin take his place…
Near the front of the group, Legolas walked beside Aragorn. He seemed to be in deep thought, with his forehead wrinkled in the most unusual and amusing way.
"Is something the matter, Legolas?" Aragorn finally asked.
"Tell me, Aragorn…" the elf spoke, glancing over his shoulder at the horse and its noisy burden. "About Mareigh Sue…"
"Yes?"
"Is her hair nicer than mine?" Aragorn could only stare at Legolas. The elf threw his hands into the air. "I can't stand it! She has amazing hair, and I'm worried that it's nicer than mine! You don't understand how distressing this is…"
"Legolas…"
"What?"
"… Never mind."
End Chapter One
Notes: I would love it if you'd review! It takes, what, 30 seconds? And for those of you who don't know what to say, here's a helpful guide:
What was your favorite part, if any?
What part needs the most work, if any?
What is a suitable fate for Mareigh Sue?
I appreciate all reviews, from the drooling fangirls to the Tolkien purists who think I should be shot for desecrating his work.