When the Fellowship visited our band!

(A/N: At our school, we have what we call band camp, which is where every day for a week we come in and go and learn marching technique and music and our competition drills for marching band. This is the tale of how different things would have been at camp if our favorite people (THE FELLOWSHIP!!!!!) had stopped by for a visit! And I'm writing this like I was there, since I was!)

(A/N#2: ahem…this was written because the idea came to while at that camp, and I need something to get over writer's block. You have been warned!)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the fellowship (though I wish I could own a few! Mmmmwwwwwahahahah!) and I certainly don't own most of the other people in the story, because they're real…of course, name changing has gone on so as not to offend….but just read the story already!

It was Monday at band camp, the very first day, and things were off to a pretty good start (except, of course, for the heat, which was stifling, and the sun, which was quickly giving all of the members of the band a bright sunburn—or in the case of a lucky few, a nice tan.

We, of course, didn't know our music yet, and probably wouldn't soon, but we could, and did, still march without it. We were marching from set number three to set number four counting each and every step. "One, two, three, four, five, si—hey! What's that?" "Hey, people, that's a 12 count move! Don't stop now!" yells our director, wondering why we've all stopped. He's up on a big tall podium thing, and he can't see what we're looking at.

"Wow!" I yell in excitement, running from my spot eagerly. Everyone else follows me. Our band director turns around in confusion, and then sees the people who have suddenly appeared behind him. The Fellowship! And they look rather confused, and slightly frightened. (And alas, who can blame them? I've just brought them to another world, or the future, or however you want to interpret the connection between our earth and Middle-Earth.) Several people I know who have seen the movie only once and didn't pay much attention and who can only figure out who Frodo is if you describe a character to them start pointing and saying "Hey, look! It's the actors from that one movie, Lord of the Rings! What are they doing here?"

I roll my eyes. Obviously, these poor people do not understand that these are not actors. This is the Fellowship themselves. Others, like myself, who've read the book and seen the movie multiple times, run up to the Fellowship eagerly and crowd around them, trying to explain to their clueless friends that this is the Fellowship. I, however, am busy talking to the nine very confused people who I've brought here.

"Hello, or good morning, or greetings and salutations, or whatever you want to say. I am Cassandra. I already know who you are—you're the Fellowship of the Ring. However, I bet you're a bit confused as to why you're here." Aragorn steps forward and says, "Yes, my dear Lady Cassandra, I was about to ask you about that." I grin at being called a lady. "I'm no lady, but I thank you for your kindness," I say, and then add, "and anyone who truly knows that you are the fellowship, not just actors, can be a bit confused about your names, alright?" Aragorn nods. "I see the wisdom in that, Cassandra," he says, and nods.

The hobbits and Boromir nod as well, and Gandalf does also after some consideration. Legolas, however, steps forward. "Yes, but, Lady Cassandra, how did we come to be here?" he asks. "Well, Legolas, you see, I believe that I, about a week after this day, will begin to write a story, and I think that in that story, you are brought here." "What? You're an author?" he asks. I nod, and he goes dead white and backs away. "You see, I got the idea for this story but a few moments ago, and I'm sure next Monday will be when I have the time and energy to begin it. Plus, I'll probably be bored by Monday."

Now the entire fellowship has drawn away in total fear, and Gimli has begun to heft his ax. I look at him, and then at the various members of the Fellowship. "Oh!" I yell, realizing I've scared them. "I'm so sorry you guys! I didn't mean to scare you! Let me explain, ok? One, I'm not an obsessive slash fan, ok?" They all sigh in relief, especially Sam, Frodo, Legolas, and Aragorn. "There's not gonna be any of that sick stuff going on here." Several other band members have been crowding around, and one asks "What the heck is slash?" "I'll explain later," I say casually, "let me finish." The other band members respectfully back off, seeing that I know what I'm doing. (Ah, the joys of being an author!) "Two, I promise you all, especially the hobbits and Legolas, that there won't be any torture of any kind in this fic—at least not of you," I amend. "I might torture some other people," I say, throwing my glance to a particularly annoying member of the band. "That includes abuse of any kind, rapes, beatings, whatever some people come up with. And third, I myself will protect you all from obsessive fangirls—all except myself, of course! And I promise I will keep my admiration down to a minimum" (or will I? ::giggles::) "and pretty much that will center only around Legolas, seeing as how Aragorn, my second most adorable dear, already is madly in love with a wonderful lady. Now. Let's get you set up."

"What do you mean by 'set up?'" asks Gandalf suspiciously. I still can't blame him. Poor guy, he thought his magic could keep them semi-safe. He at least never thought he'd come here with the Fellowship. "Yes, Cassandra, what do you mean?" asks our director, who is taking this all quite in stride. I mean, you have nine strangers pop up out of the middle of nowhere, get told they're the characters from a book come to life, and you're in charge of the welfare of a hundred high-schoolers who've crowded around these heavily armed strangers. How well would you take it?

"Well, Gandalf, Mr. Sanders, the Fellowship is going to join us for the marching season." "But they aren't written into any of the moves or anything!" cries our conductor (who's name, for the purposes of this fic, is Mr. Sanders). "What are we going to do with them?" "Oh, I'll fix that," I say happily, taking the charts from his hands. "Legolas, here's the music for you," I say, taking Mr. Sanders's score (the thing that has all the parts in it) and handing it to him. "Write in parts for two oboes." "Ok," he says, and begins to do so. I grin, thankful that being an author means you can give these sort of talents to people, and order my brother to go home and get my oboe, and then tell him to go to my friend Stephanie's house and get hers, also, since she's not in band anymore.

He actually does, quite to my surprise, before I remember that I'm an author. "Cassandra, oboes don't march, you know that," says Mr. Sanders (this is due to the tuning of the instrument, which has to do with where the reed is positioned in your mouth. You move your arms up and down for the tuning, and it's just too complicated to do on a marching field. You'll only be in tune if you're standing still..) "Legolas can keep the oboe in the right place if he tries. He's an elf. And I'll just learn how to do so," I say firmly, hurriedly taking the neckstrap of my alto saxophone off my neck.

My section stares at me in horror. "What are you doing? We're already missing one alto! We can't be missing two!" one of my section leaders yells in horror. "No, don't worry. Aragorn will be taking my place, and Boromir will be taking mysterious Kevin-who-nobody-knows-where-he-is's place, alright?" "They're full grown adults, Cassandra. They can't march in the band!" protests Mr. Sanders. "No they aren't. Now they're just really tall and mature looking high schoolers. Alright?" "But I don't know, Cassandra," he says, unsure. "It seems a little unfair." "Mr. Sanders," I say eagerly, "these are trained swordsmen. They have grace and control over their movements. They'll fit in fine. And besides, we want to be good enough to get into that really famous Hawaii parade, right?" "Well, yes…" "And they'll help you with your fencing club, as well, alright?" "Well, alright, then. I suppose they can stay. But what about the rest of them?"

"Well, you have to let Legolas stay. That's not an option," I say. "And if we trim Gimli's beard, then.." "No! Not my beard!" yells Gimli. I thought you said no cruelty!" "All right, but you'll have to tuck it into your marching uniform. OK?" "Alright," he says, thankful that he gets to keep his beard. "What's he going to play, Cassandra?" asks Mr. Sanders. "Well, you see, one of the drummers is going to be moving away, so he'll sit out this week, and Gimli will take his place. And the hobbits," I say with a wicked smile," will, of course, be welcome additions to the pit!" (The pit are the people with like, the mallets and gong and timpani and other instruments that don't march.) "We already have all of the people we need," protests the man who comes in to help the percussion work. "Too bad," I say, "you'll just have to borrow the middle school's extra xylophones, ok?" He glares at me, but Mr Sanders suddenly nods. "She's right, that would be a good idea. It would bring out the pit more—and I always welcome additions to the rest of our band. But what about him?" he asks, pointing at Gandlaf.

"Well, he's obviously too old to pose as a high schooler. So we'll make him an official chaperone—he'll mainly be along to watch over the hobbits, especially Merry and Pippin. "Why especially us?" asks Merry. "Yeah, Frodo's the Ring Bearer! Doesn't he need special watching?" "Sauron has no power here. Frodo, and the Ring, are perfectly safe here." "So I could leave it here with you forever and everything would be ok?" Frodo asks hopefully. I sigh and shake my head. "No. Though the Ring and Sauron are powerless here, you must return to Middle Earth. "Well, why?" asks Frodo. "Well, for one, because I know of a certain Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien who happens to be your real author. He's just letting my plot bunnies and I borrow you for a little bit." I reply. "Oh yes. I forgot about him for a minute," said Frodo sadly. "But don't worry, Frodo. I promise to you, everything will be fine." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Oh, nothing important. Just ignore it, alright?" "Um….ok…"

"So, now that that's cleared up," I say, with a sad glance at poor Frodo, "let's get these people some instruments!" Boromir is handed one of the school's extra alto saxes, and I give him one of my extra reeds. I look to see if anyone's gone to the middle school and gotten the hobbits instruments. Surprisingly enough, they have (DON'T ask how they got through the locked doors. That's this author's little secret!) and the hobbits are happily experimenting. The man who works with the percussion alone sighs and takes them aside, realizing he has a lot of work ahead of him. Gimli has been given the bass drum that the kid who is moving used to wear, and is quickly taught what he has to do. "I'm not stupid, and I could take your head off with my ax, so you just watch yourself," he snarls to the section leader, who is trying to explain to Gimli what marching band is, exactly. Ryan looks at the ax, and then at Gimli. "Yeah, I bet you could. But I'm your section leader, and you will do as I say." Gimli grumbles, and I grin.

I look at Legolas, who has been given both oboe cases. I give him Stephanie's, and tell him "I'll let you use of my reeds that I haven't used in about three months, and you can sterilize it or whatever, ok?" He nods, and I show him how to put the oboe together. Then I put my dear together, and grin as I look at her. "Well, Robin, it seems you and I will be making sweet music together again," I tell the instrument affectionately, hugging her closely. Now only Aragorn remains. I hand Robin to Legolas, who is busy acquainting himself with Stephanie's oboe, which I now learn has been given over to him. I hurry over to Aragorn and hand him my own alto saxophone. "Here, Aragorn. This one is yours now," I tell him watching him take it eagerly. "He'll really like you, I'm just sure of it, I've told him all about you!" I cry as he takes it into his hands. "Him?" asks Aragorn, confused. "Oh, yes! This saxophone is also named Aragorn. He does his duty to me as you do yours to Frodo and all of Middle Earth. He is a bit worn looking at times, which you can also be," I say pointedly, and watch Aragorn go red while Boromir laughs. "Not in a bad way—I just mean when the stress of who you are and what you must do catch up with you," I say quickly, and, noticing he still seems slightly offended, add, "but that has certainly not kept Lady Arwen from loving you, just as it has not kept me from loving the sax!" (This isn't entirely true—I love my oboe, but I just barely don't hate my sax!) "You'll get to know him quickly, Aragorn," I tell Aragorn-saxophone calmly. "Don't be confused," I add to Aragorn-human. "you'll see in time that your instrument has a life. You can tell by the way it suddenly feels brighter in your hand, by the way it seems to glow when you pick it up, by the joy you feel running through your fingers when you touch the keys—those are the signs of life in your instrument. Do not be too cruel to him, for this instrument is going to become your constant companion." I finish, and walk over to Legolas, and take Robin from him. He smiles, and nods. "What you say is true. Already I can feel the life-force in this one," he says, pointing to his oboe. I smile. "In time, your instrument will reveal to you its sex and name. Until then, try not to think of such matters," I advise him. He smiles, and nods at me. I look at our director, who in turn asks "So, ware we all ready?" "Yes, Mr. Sanders," I tell him, and move to my new place, written into the performance by Legolas…

And I believe that will become the end of my first chapter! I might write some more, I might not. It all depends on my reviews! So review, all you good fan-fic readers!

Oh, and note, people, I have nothing against torture fics—I even read some of them myself. I just need the entire fellowship to feel comfortable while they're here, ok? R/R!